Counter-Kill

Chapter 37: Counter-Kill

In the darkness, sword light suddenly appeared, brilliant as the stars, swift as lightning. In Lorist's eyes, the approaching sword light had already formed a giant net covering heaven and earth, sealing off all directions – front, back, left, and right. It seemed he had no other option but to wait for death.

The figure lunging at Lorist appeared to be that impatient junior disciple. His attack was vicious, not like the earlier claim of only wanting one of Lorist's arms. The sword light aimed directly for vital points; the opponent clearly didn't care about Lorist's life or death.

Lorist let out a cold snort. Instead of retreating, he advanced, drawing his sword and charging back, striking first despite attacking later.

The moment sword met sword, Lorist's longsword unleashed a storm of wind and thunder, and the sky full of sword light vanished without a trace.

"Yaaah..." The opponent had never expected Lorist's counterattack to be so fierce. Not only did it break his sword momentum and seize the initiative, but he also pressed his counterattack without yielding an inch. In an instant, he went from attacker to defender, parrying and blocking in a flurry of activity, struggling to keep up.

The opponent tried to block and deflect forcefully, relying on his Battle Qi strength at the Gold Rank to suppress Lorist's sword momentum. However, Lorist's swordsmanship was too miraculous. He attacked before the enemy moved, his moves like a raging storm, continuous and unending, like a flood pouring down, leaving no gaps. He attacked where the opponent was forced to defend, and Lorist would often change his move midway, targeting another vital point, forcing the opponent to retreat repeatedly to dodge.

The opponent was already sweating profusely from blocking. If Lorist hadn't pressed him so relentlessly, making it impossible for him to catch his breath, he would have cried out for help long ago. He never dreamed he would encounter such terrifying swordsmanship. The gap between Gold Rank Battle Qi and Black Iron seemed nonexistent. At this moment, Lorist's performance was far beyond that of a Black Iron Swordsman. In the opponent's mind, only when sparring with his senior brother, a Great Swordsman, did he feel such pressure...

A series of "clang, clang, clang..." sword strikes sounded from behind, followed by Bordefinger's muffled groan and the senior brother's scream.

"Ooh... hiss... It hurts, you lunatic, you madman! Ooh... it's killing me. Junior disciple, are you done yet? Hurry up and finish that kid and come help me. This Silver Rank guy is a complete lunatic, hiss..." The senior brother had clearly suffered a significant loss, crying out in pain from being wounded by a sword.

Bordefinger's chuckling could be heard: "Come on, this is how I take down Gold Ranks. Two of your swords for one of mine, or three for one, it's fine. Let's see who falls first..."

The senior brother dared not advance and fight Bordefinger to the death. He could only grit his teeth and circle around him, using light blades to keep him at bay while urging his junior disciple to hurry over and help him. He kept complaining about how arrogant his junior disciple usually was, yet he couldn't even take down a Black Iron Swordsman after so long, saying he must have practiced swordsmanship in the gutter.

The senior brother didn't know that his junior disciple was having unspeakable difficulties. Lorist, hearing the commotion behind him, understood that Bordefinger was injured. He intensified his assault, several times forcefully breaking through the opponent's defenses with brute strength, aiming directly for the vital points in his chest and abdomen. The junior disciple narrowly dodged these waves of attacks through rapid retreats and evasions, his heart filled with terror. Initially, he was secretly pleased when Lorist engaged him head-on, believing that his sword light, emanating from his Gold Rank strength, could easily shatter Lorist's sword, or at least inflict a heavy toll on him, as his opponent was only Black Iron.

Previously, Lorist's sword moves were too fast for the junior disciple to block. Now that he had brought it upon himself, why should he hold back? The junior disciple unleashed his full power, clashing with Lorist's sword twice. However, the expected scene of his opponent's sword breaking did not occur. Instead, a shockwave from Lorist's longsword almost made him drop the hilt. His sword was knocked aside, exposing his chest and abdomen. The junior disciple was utterly terrified, scrambling backward to escape and narrowly avoiding disaster.

Lorist felt helpless. He had initially thought his opponent was a ruthless character, given his arrogant and cold words earlier. He expected to pay a price to defeat him. However, apart from the initial onslaught, the opponent spent the rest of the time dodging, parrying, and blocking his attacks, without a single decent counterattack. No matter how powerful his swordsmanship, he couldn't do anything to an enemy who was determined to evade and refused to engage in a direct duel.

As it was, before Lorist could even advance, the junior disciple, like a startled bird, hunched his body and retreated with small steps, fully focused. It seemed he would need to devise another plan to defeat him.

Lorist slowly advanced towards his opponent, holding his longsword diagonally. In the dim light of the distant streetlamps, it danced in the air, creating brilliant sword shadows like a peacock displaying its feathers, drawing the opponent's attention. Without anyone noticing, he raised his left hand. With a "pop" and the slight sound of a spring mechanism, a thin, black sleeve dart silently shot from the quiver on his left arm, heading straight for its target.

Sweat beaded on the junior disciple's forehead. The pressure Lorist exerted made him completely deafulous to the incessant curses and urgings from his senior brother in the distance. Seeing Lorist slowly advancing again, he retreated with small steps, concentrating his mind to prepare for the impending attack. At this moment, he felt an unbearable sense of frustration, wishing he could shout loudly to vent his resentment. Who was the Gold Swordsman and who was the Black Iron? Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Lorist lunged forward. His longsword roared like thunder and wind, accompanied by a chilling gleam, striking the junior disciple as fast as lightning. The junior disciple was already terrified and didn't dare to meet the attack head-on, intending only to retreat and evade this wave of offense. However, just as he tried to bolt, he felt an excruciating pain in his left foot. Looking down, he saw a long, black sleeve dart embedded in his instep, pinning his foot to the ground...

The junior disciple was petrified, his soul about to flee his body. Seeing Lorist already upon him, he was about to open his mouth to beg for mercy, but it was too late. Where Lorist's longsword passed, the opponent's protective Gold Rank Battle Qi melted like ice and snow, allowing the sword to penetrate without obstruction. With a "swish," the sword pierced through his body.

"Ugh... des... despicable..." The junior disciple, held aloft by Lorist's sword, struggled to utter two words with his dead fish eyes.

Lorist knew the opponent was referring to his sneak attack with the dart, but he felt no shame. Instead, he nodded sincerely and said, "Thank you for the compliment."

He withdrew his longsword, and his dying opponent collapsed onto the ground like a torn sack. Lorist turned and walked, step by step, towards the senior brother who was still chattering inanely like a duck. Blood dripped from the spine of his sword onto the ground, quickly forming a bloodline.

The senior brother had been struck in the inner thigh of his left leg. While this wound wasn't life-threatening, it brought not only intense pain but also extreme difficulty in movement. Especially since, after being wounded, the senior brother didn't dare to charge forward and fight to the death. Instead, he adopted a hit-and-run tactic, intending to wait for his junior disciple to return before they could deal with Bordefinger together. The consequence was self-inflicted suffering. Every step he took aggravated the wound, causing him to wince and tremble with pain. It was no wonder he kept cursing incessantly.

However, Bordefinger wasn't faring much better. His right rib and left shoulder were bloody. The wound on his left shoulder was fine; although it looked mangled, it wasn't a deep cut. But the situation with his right rib was dire; it was a stab wound. If his internal organs were injured, it would be troublesome. Furthermore, the senior brother occasionally sent over light blades. Every time Bordefinger swung his sword to block a light blade, his right rib wound would bleed profusely.

The senior brother had stopped moving. He casually sent a few light blades towards Bordefinger before lowering his head to examine his thigh wound. He had haphazardly wrapped the wound with torn strips of cloth from his clothes, and blood was already seeping through the makeshift bandage. He shifted the cloth slightly and grimaced in pain, cursing again.

Lorist slowly approached. The senior brother thought his junior disciple had returned and complained, his head still down, "What's going on? It's taking you this long to deal with a Black Iron kid? Hiss! It hurts so much. This Silver Rank guy is a lunatic, you need to be careful. He'll fight to the death with you, don't end up like... Ah! Ah! Ah..."

He looked up and saw Lorist emerging from the darkness. The senior brother turned pale with shock. After a series of "Ahhhhs," he finally managed to utter a complete sentence: "Wh-what are you doing here? Wh-where's my junior disciple?"

Lorist swung his sword behind him, "He's lying on the ground over there. He paid the price for my arm, but unfortunately, he didn't get his wish. Now it's up to you."

He continued to advance step by step.

"You, you, you don't come any closer..." The senior brother pointed his sword at Lorist, retreating frantically. Hearing that his junior disciple was dead, he had completely lost his composure. Lorist's slowly approaching figure appeared to him like a demon of death.

He retreated several steps until he bumped into the flower bed behind him before stopping. Looking around, he had an idea. He threw his longsword at Lorist, then channeled Battle Qi into his feet, stomping on the ground. Enduring the pain, he leaped high into the air, intending to jump over the flower bed and escape, abandoning his sword.

A whistling sound cut through the air. A longsword, like a javelin, soared through the air and plunged into the senior brother's back, emerging from his chest. The senior brother flailed his limbs in mid-air, let out a single scream, and then "thudded" into the middle of the flower bed. After a few struggles, he died. The longsword was thrown by Bordefinger. Seeing the senior brother attempting to escape, he had thrown his sword without hesitation. However, after throwing his sword, he slumped down.

Lorist knocked away the longsword thrown by the senior brother. He was still six or seven meters away when he saw the senior brother leap up to escape. He realized he couldn't catch him and thought the senior brother would get away. Unexpectedly, Bordefinger performed a sword-throwing technique, killing the senior brother in mid-air.

"My friend, that was a magnificent throw, excellent technique," Lorist exclaimed loudly, striding quickly towards Bordefinger.

Bordefinger chuckled weakly, "That's a military technique, nothing special. It's just that I can't compare to you. Both of us are Gold Rank, yet you're unharmed and killed the enemy first. I'm wounded and had to rely on you to scare the enemy away before I could find an opportunity. I'm ashamed."

Lorist stepped forward to support Bordefinger, carefully helping him lean against a long bench and began to examine his wounds. The injury on his left shoulder was not serious. However, the stab wound on his right rib was difficult to examine thoroughly due to the dim streetlamp light.

Seeing Lorist's concern for his injuries, Bordefinger was deeply moved. He smiled weakly, "It's alright. I know my own condition. I was prepared when the sword was thrust at me. It shouldn't have injured my internal organs. I'll recover in a month or two. I've had worse injuries in the army, and I pulled through."

Lorist directly removed his fine linen undergarment, tore it into strips, and bandaged Bordefinger's two wounds. Then, he went to the two corpses to search them, retrieving only two money pouches, two longswords, and two Gold One-star Battle Qi insignia.

"Strange. These two swords are quite ordinary, but these two Gold Battle Qi insignia don't seem to be the style of the Commercial Alliance. They're quite rare," Lorist remarked.

Bordefinger couldn't recognize where they were from either and shook his head.

The two money pouches contained about twenty Gold Fude and thirty large silver coins. Lorist placed the Gold Fude and large silver coins into separate pouches. Then, taking the pouch with the large silver coins, he said, "Brother Bordefinger, these are our spoils of war. One pouch each. I won't be polite; this extra pouch will be mine."

Saying this, he stuffed the pouch containing over twenty Gold Fude into Bordefinger's embrace. Bordefinger blinked, a look of gratitude in his eyes, "Mr. Norton, you..."

Lorist waved to stop him from speaking further, "Call me Locke. When you drew your sword and fought alongside me, you became my friend. Between friends, there's no need for politeness."

"En..." Bordefinger smiled, "Alright, Locke. You can call me Borg. My comrades in the army all call me that."

"Okay, Borg," Lorist replied.

The rumbling sound of a speeding carriage could be heard from a distance. It was Ready, driving the carriage back. The top and rear luggage rack of the carriage were packed with people. Before the carriage even stopped, people were leaping off, and seven or eight of them rushed over, shouting loudly. Er and Fatty Shi led the charge. Upon reaching them, they saw Lorist unharmed and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Where are the opponents? Did you chase them away?" Fatty Shi asked, panting.

"Over there, and in the flower bed. Both are down," Lorist pointed in the direction and asked Fatty Shi, "Do you have any medicine?"

"Yes, yes..." Fatty Shi quickly took out medicine from his person.

Er waved and took a few people with Telman to examine the bodies.

Lorist untied Bordefinger's bandages and reapplied medicine.

"Daddy, Daddy!" A boy and a girl rushed over, grabbing Bordefinger's hands and bursting into tears. These were Bordefinger's son, Shiward, and daughter, Alisha. They had woken up on the carriage, terrified by the unfamiliar surroundings and people, and their father was missing. If Fatty Shi hadn't told them they were going to pick up their father, who knows how much longer they would have cried. Seeing their father injured, the two children began to wail even louder.

"Don't cry, don't cry, Shiward. You're a boy, you need to be strong and protect your sister when you grow up. Boys shouldn't cry so easily. Daddy's fine, just a scratch that bled a little, nothing serious," Bordefinger said to his son while stroking Alisha's hair.

Garilando limped over. "I recognize these two. They came to the Red Raven Tavern for the first time tonight and sat in a corner drinking. They didn't talk much, and I watched them for a while, noticing they seemed to be waiting for someone. Because they were so quiet, I didn't pay much attention. But later, when Little Locke returned from the backyard to pay his bill and said he was leaving, these two left first. Louise collected their tab."

Fatty Shi pondered. "Did they go to the Red Raven Tavern just to wait for Locke? And did they leave early to ambush Locke on the road ahead? Did you find any clues on them? Locke."

"Besides their money pouches, they only had these Battle Qi badges. They didn't carry anything else. Oh, and these two swords," Lorist said, handing over two Battle Qi badges.

Fatty Shi turned the badges over and over for a long time. "The design is quite unique, but I can't recall which emblem this is."

He casually handed the badges to Er, who had returned grumbling. "This is your territory. Fortunately, Little Locke wasn't harmed. Otherwise, how would you explain it to everyone? These belong to those two dead men. Take them and see if you can find any clues."

Er took the badges and exclaimed, "Whoa, they're really Gold One-star! We didn't quite believe Ready when he said at the tavern that two Gold One-stars were ambushing you, and yet you're completely fine while they're dead. Damn it, Locke, you're a monster!"

"Didn't you see Brother Borg is injured? If it weren't for him, I would have been in real trouble. Enough talk, everyone lend a hand and let's get Brother Borg onto the carriage. They'll stay at my place first. Oh, right, where's Instructor Marlin?" Lorist asked.

Fatty Shi replied, "Still in the carriage, sleeping soundly..."