Come, Let's Fight!

However, the moment Lu Bo turned around, he was not greeted by mocking laughter.

Instead, a long spear thrust straight toward his face, moving with such speed that it didn't even make a sound as it pierced the air.

In a mere instant, the spearhead reached Lu Bo's head, seemingly ready to puncture his skull in the blink of an eye.

Against a strike of this caliber, even if Lu Bo's body were twice as tough, he would still face the outcome of being impaled.

This group had clearly watched from afar as Lu Bo struggled with his horse. Knowing he was not to be trifled with, they had used lighthearted banter to lower his guard, only to launch a silent, lethal strike the moment he was distracted.

Had it been anyone else, they likely would have fallen for the trap.

"Too bad these are all tricks your Grandpa Lu played with years ago!"

Lu Bo tilted his head, letting the spear graze his neck before clamping it firmly between his shoulder and jaw.

At the same time, he spat a jet of water from his mouth.

The man on horseback who had launched the strike tried to yank his spear back, but felt a sudden resistance. Then, a faint, fragrant scent rushed toward him, followed by a sharp pain in his eyes and nose, as if he had been struck by a solid punch.

Next, he felt a force like that of a giant beast surging through his weapon. The spear he had gripped for ten years was ripped from his hands.

A whistling sound rang out—a noise he was intimately familiar with. It was the sound of a spear being swung.

He had practiced the spear since childhood. In his first ten years, he achieved a modest level of skill and became a well-known expert, which was when he had purchased this spear crafted by a master.

From then on, the spear never left his side, and his hand never left the spear.

But five years later, he realized his spear skills had hit a wall, unable to improve any further.

From that point on, he began to specialize in the "silent spear," thrusting with such speed that it made no sound at all.

It had been a long time since he had heard that whistling sound.

"I... seem to have lost something..."

His head flew into the air. Lu Bo shook the spear to flick off the blood, then pivoted and thrust it into the body of another man nearby.

"Ah!" Lu Bo roared, putting his strength into his hands. He swept the spear in a smooth arc, lifting the man on horseback and hurling him into another.

He threw the enemy formation into chaos, startling the horses, before retreating and scooping up the Third Young Master with one hand. With his other hand, he held the spear diagonally, driving the tip into the ground and twisting it to heave up a spray of earth.

Gravel, mud, and snow flew through the air like the sharpest of hidden weapons.

Lu Bo tossed the young master aside, leveled his spear, and his gaze began to burn with intensity.

"Dismount!"

Someone shouted. The horses were already spooked and, in this situation, had become a hindrance.

These men were fierce and brave, far beyond the average person.

One had to remember that back at the Black Tiger Stronghold, after Lu Bo had killed only five or six of the twenty or thirty combatants, the rest had already collapsed in defeat.

The ones who remained—begging for mercy, fleeing, or even turning on their own—had turned Lu Bo's actions from a battle into a massacre.

But this group of about a dozen men, even after Lu Bo had killed three of them in a preemptive strike, did not turn their horses and flee. Instead, they dismounted to continue the fight, which was truly remarkable.

Lu Bo appreciated those with such unwavering fighting spirit.

Lu Bo was not particularly skilled with a spear; he essentially used it as a club. At its core, it was just brute force.

He knew a few basic techniques, and for the rest, he simply swung it with all his might.

The same went for Lu Bo's fist techniques.

He had practiced those so-called martial arts forms, only to discover that he wasn't suited for them.

Modern martial arts, polished over generations, were mostly focused on finesse.

Every move and every form was designed to maximize the efficiency of one's power and strength.

But there was no helping it; the modern world lacked supernatural power. While there were differences in natural talent between people, as long as one mastered the correct methods and trained diligently, the physical gap between individuals wasn't that great.

People with innate gifts like Lu Bo were rare, so most had to walk the path of pursuing technique.

They would train to the limit, hoping to achieve a touch of the extraordinary.

Lu Bo had no talent for technique, so he stopped pursuing it. Relying on his own physical constitution, he ignored the forms and just struck out.

Of course, when it came to fighting, Lu Bo's talent was quite impressive.

But talent and aptitude were different. Aptitude was something one was born with, like Lu Bo's Dragon-like Vitality, while talent needed to be realized. How does one realize it?

"By fighting, of course!" Lu Bo charged forward, spear in hand.

The men all dismounted and exchanged short, quick words.

"It's the Blood Monk Lu Bo, an expert in external martial arts!"

"Don't let him get close! Keep your distance!"

As Lu Bo advanced, they retreated, their eyes locked firmly on him.

The scene became somewhat comical, resembling a group of crabs, hunched over with their upper bodies still while their lower bodies scurried left, right, forward, and backward in response to Lu Bo's movements.

The group left a trail of marks across the snow.

Yet, beneath this absurdity lay a fierce battle of nerves and spirit.

Martial artists are human too; no one possesses a body of steel and iron, at least not yet.

To be grazed is to be wounded, and to be pierced is to die.

Lu Bai could withstand a few punches, kicks, or strikes from a cudgel, but when faced with sharp weapons, he still had to dodge.

In such a situation, one must constantly move to find the opponent's opportunities and flaws.

Every strike requires caution; otherwise, the very next moment could be fatal.

In this kind of struggle, the mental pressure is immense, and one's focus must be absolute.

Initially, the people on the other side held the advantage; they were numerous, and Lu Bai had to keep track of many things.

Looking at Lu Bai's side, he was all alone, and having so many eyes fixed upon him brought him tremendous pressure.

Yet, as the stalemate dragged on, Lu Bai seemed to grow increasingly excited, the smile at the corner of his lips becoming ever more brilliant.

He seemed unable to feel the pressure, or perhaps he was simply enjoying the tension brought about by this life-or-death battle.

Influenced by that smile, the man's mind faltered for a split second, and his footing went awry.

It was at that very moment that Lu Bai moved.

A blood-colored aura seemed to ripple across his body, like a swimming dragon or a demon crawling out from the depths of hell.

Blood Burning Technique!

The long spear cleared the path, and then his figure surged forward.

Once the opponent's rhythm broke, the formation they had maintained fell into disarray.

The long spear thrust into that single opening, splitting the crowd apart, followed by a whistling sound.

The next moment, Lu Bai's figure was already before him, his blood-red shadow consuming everything, and he instinctively raised his blade to hack.

But he felt empty in his hand—the sensation was wrong!

No! It wasn't that the sensation was wrong; it was that his hand was gone!

The moment he collapsed, he saw his own twisted limbs.

As the ground was trampled, the mud and melted snow were mixed with something new.