One Slash, Two Halves: Who Can Withstand This?

Lin Feng silently recited in his heart: Repair.

In an instant, the system fixed the war blade.

The moment the thought landed, a scorching heat spread from his palm; dark-golden patterns crawled from the hilt to the blade, spirit runes lighting up one after another.

The entire process took less than a breath.

The burly man's words "wise move" were still hanging in the air when Lin Feng had already drawn his blade and struck.

No unnecessary movements—just the simplest downward chop.

The burly man wasn't slow to react; his waist knife was half-drawn, raised horizontally in front of him.

Blade met blade.

Lin Feng's blade slid through like silk, meeting no resistance.

It carried through the man behind the weapon—from left shoulder to right hip, a diagonal line.

The burly man's body split in two, collapsing onto the steps, blood spattering across the stone floor.

From drawing to sheathing, less than half a second.

The noisy crowd in the pit square fell silent in a small patch.

A few passing martial artists turned their heads for a glance, then quickly looked away, quickening their pace, pretending they'd seen nothing.

It was the black market—a dead man was about as noteworthy as a dead dog.

Wang Tie's mouth hung open, not a single word coming out.

He'd just been saying "seventy-eight thousand for a broken blade," and now that broken blade had cleaved a man and his weapon in two?

Damn, no wonder it was A-rank.

The other two reacted much faster.

The tall, skinny one's legs gave out for a beat, then he spun around and bolted like mad into a side alley.

The short, fat one was even more direct—he didn't bother turning, just backpedaled, crashing into a street vendor's stall.

Lin Feng glanced at the tall, skinny one, then shouted to Wang Tie: "The short one's yours."

The words barely left his mouth before he was off.

The tall, skinny one ran for his life, but a Martial Artist First Stage's speed was like walking to Lin Feng.

Three steps and he caught up.

Mountain Splitter swept horizontally; the tall, skinny one's head was still looking forward, but the back of his neck already had a half-foot-long gash.

He pitched forward, sliding two meters across the ground, fingers scraping the stone cracks before twitching twice and going still.

[Steel of the Blade: 86/500]

Lin Feng flicked the blood off his blade and looked back at Wang Tie.

Wang Tie might have a big mouth, but he didn't mess around in a fight. The short, fat one was only a Martial Disciple Ninth Stage; he'd tripped over the knocked-over stall, and just as he got up, Wang Tie drove his blade into his lower back.

The short, fat one screamed and tried to struggle, but Wang Tie twisted the blade and sliced sideways, and the man went still.

From start to finish, less than ten seconds—all three were down.

Wang Tie pulled his blade out of the short, fat one, wiped off the blood, glanced back at the burly man split in half on the steps, then looked at the long blade in Lin Feng's hand with its flowing dark-golden patterns, and swallowed hard.

"Wasn't your blade broken?"

Lin Feng slid Mountain Splitter back into the wooden box and casually closed the lid.

"Fixed it."

"When?"

"Just now."

Wang Tie's mind spun three times and still couldn't figure it out. What did "just now" mean? Weren't you just talking to that burly man?

But Lin Feng was already crouching down, rifling through the burly man's belongings.

In the black market, there was no calling the cops. Someone died, their stuff went to the winner.

That was the rule—the only rule here.

The burly man had quite a haul.

A storage pouch containing three E-rank demon cores, two bottles of unlabeled pills, and a cash card with over seventy thousand.

This guy must have been running this roadside robbery gig in the black market for a while—he'd collected a lot.

The tall, skinny one had less: one E-rank demon core and twenty thousand in cash.

The short, fat one was the poorest—just eight thousand in his pocket and a dagger that was a piece of junk.

Lin Feng piled the three men's belongings together and counted them.

"Four E-rank demon cores, two bottles of unknown medicine, cash around a hundred thousand, and some odds and ends."

Wang Tie was rubbing his hands together beside him, a mix of excitement and nervousness, his head swiveling left and right as he looked around, afraid someone else might come looking for trouble.

"How do we split this?"

"Three shares."

"Three shares?" Wang Tie froze for a moment. "Aren't there just two of us?"

"Li Ming's watching our stuff back at camp. He gets a share."

Wang Tie let out an "ah," thought it over, then nodded.

"Fair enough. That kid did help out."

Lin Feng divided the demon cores and cash into three piles, making them as even as possible.

The two bottles of pills were tricky to split, so he set them aside for now. They'd find someone to appraise them later.

He wrapped each of the three piles in cloth, tucked Li Ming's share under the crate, stowed his own away, and handed the rest to Wang Tie.

Wang Tie took it, hefted it in his hand, and let out a couple of chuckles. Then, as if remembering something, he wiped the grin off his face.

"Bro Lin, that slash of yours was really something."

"Mm."

"A martial artist at the third stage, and you cut him down in one blow—along with his weapon. That was a D-grade blade."

Lin Feng tucked the crate under his arm and started up the steps.

"Let's go. Back to camp."

Wang Tie hurried after him, his mouth still running.

"What realm are you, anyway? Weren't you just at the second stage before? Can a second-stage really cleave through a third-stage in one hit? Or is it that your blade's just too fierce?"

Lin Feng didn't answer.

Truth be told, he was a bit surprised by that slash himself.

After the Mountain Splitter was repaired, the feeling of channeling blood qi into it was completely different. The blade seemed to come alive, amplifying the power he output by at least thirty percent. Where the edge passed, even the air seemed to tear open a slit.

The power of a C-grade weapon really couldn't be compared to a D-grade.

Coupled with his innate strength, he was already far beyond martial artists of the same rank.

But he couldn't explain that to Wang Tie.

The two of them climbed the steps, passed through three hidden doors, and emerged back above ground.

After walking for about twenty minutes, they spotted the camp's fence in the distance.

Li Ming was squatting by the camp gate, gnawing on a strip of dried meat he'd scrounged from somewhere. When he saw them coming back, he jumped up and rushed over.

"You guys finally made it! I thought you'd gotten jumped."

"Almost." Wang Tie rolled his eyes. "Three clueless idiots tried to block us. Bro Lin cut them down in one slash."

"One slash?" Li Ming's eyes went wide.

"One slash. Man and blade, split in two." Wang Tie mimed it. "Just like that—shwoosh."

Li Ming looked at Lin Feng, then at the wooden crate tucked under his arm.

Lin Feng opened the crate and handed him his share.

"This is yours."

Li Ming looked down. Demon cores, cash, and a few odds and ends.

"I get a cut too?"

"You helped watch our stuff. You won't be shorted."

Li Ming opened his mouth, his hands trembling slightly as he took the bundle.

He'd been stuck in the recruit camp for nearly two months. Forget splitting spoils—he'd barely even gotten a chance to go on field missions. Every month, he just collected his meager salary.

"Bro Lin, you're solid."

"Don't call me Bro Lin. Just Lin Feng is fine."

"Bro Lin!"

Lin Feng couldn't be bothered to correct him anymore.

The three of them returned to the barracks and each tidied up.

Lin Feng took the Mountain Splitter out of the crate, leaned it by the bed, and inspected the blade again.

Dark gold spirit patterns flowed across it. The nicks and chips that had once marred the edge were completely gone after the repair, the blade smooth and razor-sharp.

The scabbard, though, was still a wreck.

He'd need to find time to get a new one made.

As he was studying the blade, a knock came at the barracks door.

Three knocks, unhurried and steady.

Wang Tie poked his head up from the bed. "Who is it?"

A stranger's voice came from outside the door.

"Excuse me, is Lin Feng here? Deputy Battalion Commander Zhao requests your presence."

Wang Tie and Li Ming exchanged a glance.

Deputy Battalion Commander Zhao?

That was the second-in-command of the entire garrison—a figure you might not even see at meetings, let alone have summon you personally.

A recruit who'd been in camp less than a week, and Deputy Battalion Commander Zhao sent someone to fetch him in person?

Li Ming muttered under his breath, "Did you get into trouble? Did someone report you for killing in the black market?"

Wang Tie shook his head. "The black market doesn't have that rule. Dead means dead."

Lin Feng tucked Mountain Splitter under his pillow, stood up, and brushed the dust off his clothes.

"I'm here. I'll go with you."

A middle-aged man in military uniform stood outside the door, a lieutenant's insignia on his shoulder. He gave Lin Feng a once-over with a blank expression, then turned and led the way.

The two crossed the camp, walking for five or six minutes until they reached a standalone tent.

The lieutenant stopped at the entrance.

"Go on in. The deputy battalion commander is waiting for you inside."

Lin Feng pushed the door open and entered.

The room was small—a table, two chairs, and a map of the Northern Territory hanging on the wall.

Behind the table sat a man in his forties, with a square face and prominent brow bones. The shoulder insignia on his uniform bore two bars and three stars—the rank of colonel.

Beside his hand lay a folder, flipped open to a page with a photo pasted on it.

Lin Feng's photo.

"Sit."

Lin Feng pulled out a chair and sat down.

Deputy Battalion Commander Zhao closed the folder, folded his hands on the table, and swept his gaze over Lin Feng twice.

"Lin Feng, eighteen years old, Martial Artist Second Stage. Stationed in the Northern Territory three days ago, assigned to the Seventh Patrol Squad."

He paused.

"On the first day of your posting, you single-handedly killed six F-rank aberrant beasts. Later, you investigated a mutated F-rank rift..."

Another pause.

"Yesterday, you executed the corrupt official, Zhao Tianxiong."

Deputy Battalion Commander Zhao lifted his head and fixed his eyes on Lin Feng.

Lin Feng didn't respond.

Zhao pulled another file from under the table and slid it in front of Lin Feng.

Lin Feng glanced down at the cover.

Four bold characters.

D-rank Rift.