(Thanks to Two Big Pineapples for the Alliance Leader)

Dim mist permeated the area surrounding the manor.

Lin Sheng carried the Black Sword, slowly making his way along the right side of the carriage path.

Underfoot, he occasionally stepped on gravel and dried grass roots, producing a faint, crisp crunching sound.

From both sides, the rustling of leaves carried on the wind drifted toward him.

Lin Sheng glanced at his surroundings; both left and right were dense, dim forests where black branches swayed incessantly, as if something might lunge out from the darkness at any moment.

Directly ahead, a solitary lamppost stood at a Y-shaped fork, a swaying black oil lamp hanging from it.

Beneath the lamp, two shriveled, pitch-black corpses leaned back-to-back against the post, their heads tilted to the side.

The two corpses were dressed in blackened rags, their faces obscured, with only messy white hair covering their heads like weeds.

Lin Sheng paused, then slowly approached with his sword raised.

The area around the lamppost was desolate, with the wind whistling through.

The closer he got, the more Lin Sheng felt an inexplicable sense of loneliness, as if he were standing in the middle of an empty football field, surrounded by nothingness.

I'm at least four or five hundred meters away from the manor now. I shouldn't run into that monster that killed me once before, right?

Lin Sheng was well aware of his own limitations; the monster's speed and strength were far beyond what he could match.

Although he had gained a portion of Ravel's memories, his true strength remained very weak.

First, his physical fitness hadn't changed; his strength and speed were still the same as before.

Second, he had only obtained fragments of Ravel's memories, mastering only a single thrusting technique, which was merely the most basic of all fundamental moves.

In terms of real strength, if I were in Ravel's environment, I probably wouldn't even qualify as a reserve soldier, Lin Sheng thought with a bitter smile.

Yet, the thought that killing the monster might yield more memory fragments filled him with anticipation.

Gripping his sword, he approached step by step, remaining vigilant.

He walked until he was less than a meter away from the corpses.

Lin Sheng poked the arm of one corpse with the tip of his sword.

Thud.

One of the corpses toppled to the ground, its head rolling off its neck and revealing a dagger hidden in its chest.

Dead for good? Lin Sheng narrowed his eyes and nudged the dagger with his sword tip.

With a clatter, the dagger rolled out and fell onto the muddy ground nearby.

Hiss.

Suddenly, a familiar hissing sound came from his right.

His eyes widened, and he immediately looked toward the source of the noise.

In the darkness, a monster with a black sword growing out of its right arm was slowly limping toward him.

The monster's head was wrapped in a white headscarf, with spots of blood seeping through. The skin exposed on its neck and arms was covered in festering pustules.

Here we go again. Lin Sheng tightened his grip on the Black Sword, focusing his mind to face it.

With Ravel's fragmented memories, he felt he could try to engage the monster head-on.

Sneak attacks won't solve the problem. I have to face this predicament sooner or later. Lin Sheng steadied his breathing, gripped the sword with both hands, and slowly raised it high, holding it beside his ear.

Hiss.

The Rotten Swordsman drew closer and closer.

Lin Sheng's focus intensified.

Whoosh.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew past.

In an instant, Lin Sheng slashed downward, the Black Sword cutting through the night with a sharp whistling sound as it struck straight toward the Rotten Swordsman's neck.

If this strike landed, it would surely be a one-hit kill. Although the Rotten Swordsman possessed great strength and decent swordsmanship, its body was rotting and extremely fragile. Once struck, it would essentially be finished.

The Rotten Swordsman did not wait to die; it raised its own black sword in an arc, colliding with Lin Sheng's blade.

Clang.

Lin Sheng's sword was deflected outward, the combat memories inherited from Ravel taking effect.

He took advantage of the momentum to sidestep to the right, avoiding the follow-up strike from the Rotten Swordsman.

"Die."

Lin Sheng gripped his sword with both hands and slashed downward, attempting to sever the creature's wrist.

Clang.

Another dull thud echoed as the strike was once again blocked by the crossguard of the Rotten Swordsman's blade.

Both of them retreated.

In less than a second, Lin Sheng lunged forward again, his Black Sword moving like a black snake, thrusting straight and sharp toward the Rotten Swordsman's chest.

Clang.

This strike was blocked once again.

Lin Sheng retreated two steps.

The two stood face-to-face, returning to a stalemate.

That was the nature of an ancient style like Naxi Swordsmanship; timing, angle, speed, and distance were all paramount. Once both sides were evenly matched in these aspects, this kind of deadlock was inevitable.

The continuous sound of clashing steel echoed far into the distance. Faint hissing sounds could be heard approaching from afar.

Lin Sheng tangled with the Rotten Swordsman for a while longer. This guy was a completely different type from Ravel.

His aggression wasn't high, but his defensive capabilities were formidable. His several consecutive offensives had all been precisely parried by his opponent.

Huff. Huff. Huff.

Lin Sheng gasped for air; his stamina was reaching its limit.

Despite several weeks of continuous training, he was still, at his core, a high school student with very little athletic background.

Being able to trade blows with the Rotten Swordsman for this long was already an anomaly.

Every time the Black Sword collided with the opponent's blade, his arms went numb. He had to exert every ounce of his strength just to keep the Black Sword from flying out of his grip.

Yet, the Rotten Swordsman was wielding his blade with only one hand.

This meant the gap in strength between them was also significant.

"Nice!" Lin Sheng felt sweat streaming down his forehead and temples. His body felt like a wheezing pump on the verge of breaking down, desperately gasping for fresh oxygen.

By now, this dream felt no different from reality in terms of sensory perception.

He could even feel the cold wind blowing against his skin, raising goosebumps.

Must finish this quickly! If not, I'll have to retreat! Having made up his mind, Lin Sheng stared intently at the Rotten Swordsman, then scanned the surrounding ground with his peripheral vision.

A simple plan quickly took shape in his mind.

He lunged forward again, the Black Sword thrusting straight toward the opponent's chest.

The Rotten Swordsman parried and countered swiftly. As they traded blows, they gradually shifted their position until they reached a darker area.

Thwack!

Suddenly, Lin Sheng stepped back, turned, and bolted.

The Rotten Swordsman paused for a split second before reacting, giving chase immediately. He failed to notice a sharp, protruding rock on the ground.

Trip. The Rotten Swordsman stumbled, losing his balance. Just as he tried to correct himself, he saw the Black Sword descending upon his head.

Lin Sheng had turned around at some point, gripping the Black Sword with both hands and delivering a fierce, downward slash.

Splat!

In the darkness, the Rotten Swordsman's head was cleaved like a watermelon; the Black Sword bit a third of the way in before getting stuck.

Lin Sheng pushed with all his might, but he couldn't split the opponent in two.

"It's all a lie!" he panted, drenched in sweat.

"A human skull is so much harder than everywhere else. Those stories about slicing someone in half with a single light stroke are a complete joke."

He had used every bit of his strength to cut a third of the way through, which he felt was an incredibly impressive strike.

The angle, power, and speed had been flawless, and the Black Sword itself was exceptionally sharp.

Yet, this was the only result.