Chapter 31

But by then, the others' blades had already reached him. Bai Lang curled up and dodged in a flash, using the man as a human shield. Blood and flesh flew everywhere. The poor bastard had been stabbed by Bai Lang but hadn't even had time to die before his own ruthless companions hacked him to pieces. Some of the chunks that flew through the air had already turned black and begun to stink—undoubtedly, they'd been cut by poisoned weapons.

Blood splattered over Bai Lang, too. The attack left him drenched in a cold sweat. This was his first time fighting multiple enemies at close quarters—martial artists armed with cold weapons, no less—and life or death had been decided in an instant. Now, though, his whole body felt scorching hot. The desire to fight that had surged through him suddenly turned cold. He felt as if he knew exactly where every opponent was, the length and weight of their weapons, how quickly they struck, and how their strength flowed through their blades.

He'd broken through in the middle of a fight. Perhaps this was the "hanger" he'd truly kept hidden in his heart: the Battle Hanger. The virtual character who'd had a similar hanger might have been called Xiao Feng. But Bai Lang could also have been imagining things, hallucinating under the pressure. Either way, he'd know in an instant whether it was a hallucination or a breakthrough into a new kind of person—because the others were coming at him again, attacking as if chopping meat for dumplings.

These martial artists were around Bai Lang's level. They had inner strength, but it wasn't particularly powerful, and they couldn't project it outside their bodies. It could make them stronger and lighter on their feet, though, and let them bring real killing power to techniques that would otherwise have been dismissed as mere flashy moves. To Bai Lang, that already made them very hard opponents. He might not have feared any of them one-on-one, but now five or six were ganging up on him. He would have to squeeze every last drop of potential out of himself to fight them.

The battle ignited Bai Lang's fighting spirit. The moment he sprang out from beneath the shattered "cover," his body stretched long. This was another ability of his Tiger Form True Intent: his whole body moved like a great cat, his spine flexing and unflexing. Curled up, he was like a ball; stretched out, he shot forward like an uncoiling spring. He reached out again, and the short sword in his hand plunged into one martial artist's chest and belly. Bai Lang didn't pull it back. He let go, leaving the sword lodged between the man's bones, then snapped his spine and sprang backward.

The inner strength of the Golden Bell Shield still couldn't stop blades imbued with inner strength, but it unquestionably reduced the damage. Where the inner strength gathered, it could even become as hard as metal. Bai Lang's hands were already trained into tiger claws, and now, reinforced with the Golden Bell Shield's inner strength, they were practically weapons. The man he pounced on wielded a long sword. His smooth, flowing swordplay was like silken threads: a sudden thrust could emerge from the supple movements, striking the eyes, heart, or throat. It was probably quite a good sword style.

But Bai Lang didn't have time to get tangled up with him. He covered his eyes with one hand and charged straight into the swordsman's reach. The sword cut through his clothes and slashed his body. Even the Golden Bell Shield's inner strength couldn't stop it, and he was left with wound after wound. Bai Lang had already accepted that he'd have to trade injuries for his enemy's life. He charged into the swordsman's center, roared like a tiger, and raked with both claws, lowering his head slightly to shield his eyes with his forehead. Who knew whether whatever force was behind this would heal them when the mission ended? Infinite-flow worlds didn't always offer such good treatment.

The human skull was hardest at the forehead. In certain circumstances, it could even deflect or catch small-caliber pistol bullets. With the Golden Bell Shield's inner strength, it was harder still, and Bai Lang figured the sword probably couldn't pierce his skull. The swordsman didn't have time to react. Bai Lang's pounce came with a gust of bloody wind, and before the man could blink, his claws had already reached him.

The blows landed with what had to be thousands of jin of force. Bai Lang struck the swordsman hard, and before the man could be knocked away, he turned his palms into claws and ripped into him. Using the force of the man's flight, Bai Lang tore away the entire front section of his rib cage. He was left holding a bloody mass of skin and flesh with a whole set of ribs attached. Bai Lang swiftly flung the ribs sideways to block the others' view, then used the momentum to leap at them again.

At close quarters, there was no weapon more vicious than fists, feet, and tiger claws. With Bai Lang's strength, anything he touched ended in broken bones and torn sinews; anything he grabbed became a bloody mess. But his opponents weren't pushovers, either. Even as they fought at close quarters, they managed to wound him. He just had to make sure he wasn't struck by the poisoned weapons. For everything else, he could use the parts of his body thick-skinned and toughened by the Golden Bell Shield's inner strength to block the blows. Better to be wounded than dead.

His next target was the man with the poisoned sword. Just as before, Bai Lang grabbed the corpse he'd killed and used it as a shield. He snapped the dead man's neck in the shortest time possible and twisted his body into a knot. The price was three cuts across his back, two stabs to his buttocks, and a blow from a soft whip to one shoulder.

When Bai Lang finally used his "sense" to kill them all, he was exhausted and slumped onto a corpse. "I can't believe I really broke through. There really is a 'Martial God Hanger.' But at this rate, I might actually bleed to death if I'm unlucky. I'd better bandage myself up." From start to finish, the fight had lasted less than two minutes. The slaughter had been so intense that the others had had no time to feel fear or flee. Every one of them had fought to the end.

"What a pointless way to die. They came out shouting and attacked me in a group, and I don't even know what faction they belonged to. But they kept shouting about a hall master. Could they have been working for that target? What was the guy called again?" Bai Lang awkwardly tended to his wounds. He had plenty of cuts from blades and swords, some deep enough to expose bone. Fortunately, the Golden Bell Shield's inner strength had reduced the damage, and he'd managed to staunch the bleeding by clenching his muscles tight, so the bandages seemed to be holding.

All he could do was wash the wounds clean with water, then wrap them tightly in layer upon layer of cloth. The cloth was hard to find; he had to tear strips from the clean-looking clothes of the dead. "This is definitely going to get infected," Bai Lang cursed. Still, it was only twelve shichen. With his physique, he should be able to hold out. After that, he'd either be erased or make it back, so there was no need to worry.

Now that everyone was dead, there was no one left to ask for directions. After the bloody fight, Bai Lang was parched, but luckily there was a stream nearby. He washed himself clean and drank his fill. Who cared if there were parasites or anything like that? He only had one day to get through. Since he couldn't tell which way to go, he could only think carefully about what he'd seen when he first came out. Maybe he could reason out the right direction. After all, those dead bastards had seemed to be standing guard at first, hadn't they?