Bloody Battle at Creek River Village

Wang Chong's face looked twisted in the firelight.

He glanced back at the thirteen people behind him, his voice low and heavy with killing intent:

"Two to a team. Watch each other's backs."

"Clear out the bandits first. Remember—when you see one, strike to kill."

Butcher Zhang had Chen Jing follow him.

The sixteen men split into eight teams and silently slipped into the village.

The moment they entered, the stench of blood hit them head-on.

Chen Jing was already familiar with the smell of blood.

But he felt that this was completely different from the bloodshed of slaughtering pigs. A pig's blood was thick, rank, and scalding with body heat.

Yet the blood scent hanging in the air now was icy, sour and bitter, mixed with the taste of fear and despair.

Two corpses lay at the village entrance. Their padded jackets had been hacked to pieces, and the scattered cotton stuffing was soaked through with blood.

A bandit dragging a blade was still rummaging through them for valuables.

At a single glance, veins bulged on Wang Chong's hand around his spear. He lunged forward like a galloping horse and spat out one word: "Kill!"

The iron spear in his hand had already pierced through the bandit's chest.

Blood gushed forth in streams.

The sight deeply provoked the young militia. Including Chen Jing, every one of them instantly saw red.

Their blood roared wildly through their bodies.

Then, like tigers and wolves, they charged into the village to slaughter the rampaging bandits.

The moment he entered the village, Butcher Zhang rushed toward Aunt Zhao's home. Chen Jing gripped his White Wax Pole tightly and followed close behind.

The master and disciple had just turned into an alley.

They ran straight into two bandits.

The two had just emerged from a courtyard, blood still dripping from their blades.

Both sides froze when they came face-to-face.

Butcher Zhang moved first.

This old butcher, plagued by a cough and tormented by old wounds, was now like an enraged leopard.

He sprang forward in a single stride, his Bone-Carving Knife sweeping upward in the exact same motion he used to bleed a slaughtered pig.

The blade tip stabbed into the first bandit's chin, pierced diagonally through his throat, and burst out through the back of his neck.

Scalding blood sprayed across his face, but he did not even wipe it away.

The bandit beside him let out a strange cry and raised his blade toward Butcher Zhang's neck.

A sudden gust of wind swept in, and Chen Jing's pole stabbed through his throat. The man glared unwillingly as he collapsed dead to the ground.

Basic Spear Technique proficiency increased by 10 points!

Butcher Zhang shot Chen Jing a surprised glance. This kid's pole technique was fast and accurate!

But he was worried about Aunt Zhao, so he said nothing more. Master and disciple hurried toward her home.

They encountered two more groups of bandits along the way.

With the White Wax Pole in hand, Chen Jing fully exploited the advantage that an inch longer meant an inch stronger.

Combined with the [Spear Like a Dragon] talent, the bandits' blades had not even reached Chen Jing before his pole tips had already struck their bodies.

One thrust, one bloody hole. Their miserable screams had not yet faded.

Butcher Zhang would charge up to finish them off and bleed them out. The pair worked together seamlessly, carrying the air of an unstoppable force.

Chen Jing killed three more bandits, and his spear technique proficiency increased by 30 points.

When they were only one alley away from Aunt Zhao's home, Butcher Zhang suddenly broke into a violent coughing fit. His body doubled over like a shrimp, and he spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm onto the ground.

His face was frighteningly pale in the firelight, while beads of cold sweat rolled down his forehead.

"Master!" Chen Jing caught him.

"I'm fine. Same old problem."

Butcher Zhang gritted his teeth and straightened up.

But Chen Jing could feel his hand trembling.

At that moment, four dark figures emerged from the alley ahead. Four blade-wielding bandits closed in, clearly having heard the commotion.

The leader was a bald, burly man carrying a broad-backed chopper. A savage scar ran across his face, from brow bone to chin.

"Well, there are still some breathing."

The bald man grinned, revealing a mouthful of rotten teeth. "Drop your weapons, and I'll give you a quick death."

Chen Jing said nothing. He merely tightened his grip on the White Wax Pole.

His gaze swept over the four men's positions as he swiftly calculated the distance and timing.

Butcher Zhang was in poor shape. They had to end this quickly.

He moved first.

The White Wax Pole shot out. The Inner Force of the Fierce Tiger Stance flowed from the soles of his feet to the pole tip. With one thrust, it was three parts faster than usual.

The foremost bandit had not even raised his blade before the pole tip punched clean through his throat. He made two hoarse choking sounds and fell backward.

The remaining three changed color at once.

The bald man roared and charged with his blade raised.

Chen Jing had just drawn back the White Wax Pole and had no time to thrust again, so he hurriedly held it crosswise to block.

With a clang, the broad-backed chopper struck the White Wax Pole, numbing the web between his thumb and forefinger.

The other two bandits took the chance to circle around from the sides.

One swung his blade at Chen Jing.

The other lunged straight at Butcher Zhang. With a clang, he knocked him to the ground.

Chen Jing knocked aside the incoming blade and hurled the White Wax Pole fiercely at the bald man. In the same motion, his right hand drew the butcher knife from his lower back.

The instant the butcher knife left its sheath, his entire aura changed. Empowered by the [Butcher] talent, his knife speed surged.

That black, heavy butcher knife seemed to come alive in his hand.

He twisted his waist and turned his hips, sweeping his blade sideways in one fluid motion.

The edge precisely sliced through the throat of the bandit coming from the side, spraying a mist of blood.

However, the bald man had already used the opening to circle behind him.

The broad-backed chopper came down with a howl of wind. Chen Jing had no time to turn and block, and could only twist aside to avoid the vital blow.

The blade slashed across his back, tearing open a long gash.

The pain was like a red-hot branding iron pressed to his back. Chen Jing gave a muffled grunt and staggered a step.

"Xiao Jing!" Butcher Zhang roared hoarsely. His strength was draining away, and he could no longer hold off the blade of the bandit on top of him.

This was the moment of life and death.

The bald man raised his chopper with a vicious grin, ready to end this troublesome youth with a single strike.

Chen Jing's eyes were bloodshot. Without hesitation, he unleashed—

[Tiger Valiance]!

The blood and qi throughout his body seemed to ignite and explode.

A violent surge of Inner Force erupted from his lower abdomen, shot up his spine to his shoulders and arms, and poured into the wrist gripping the knife.

He swung backhandedly. The butcher knife carved a black arc through the air, its blade splitting the wind with a shrill scream.

The bald man's grin froze on his face.

His head flew into the sky.

He looked down and saw the last sight of his life: a three-foot pillar of blood spraying from the severed stump of his neck.

Butcher Zhang lunged forward with the butcher knife, took one large step to shield Chen Jing, and slit the final bandit's throat.

As his strength gave out, he dropped onto the ground.

The wound on his back burned fiercely, while every muscle in his body ached and swelled.

His arms trembled slightly, and he could barely hold on to the butcher knife. He could only gasp for breath.

Butcher Zhang finally caught his breath and used the Bone-Carving Knife to push himself to his feet.

He looked at the smooth bald head, then at Chen Jing sitting on the ground and gasping. In a hoarse voice, he said:

"Good lad."

Chen Jing tugged at the corner of his mouth. After recovering a little strength, he tore off a strip of cloth and bound it tightly around his wound to stop the bleeding. Only then did he pick up the White Wax Pole and use it to support himself as he stood.

Master and disciple supported each other as they continued toward Aunt Zhao's home.

When Butcher Zhang pushed open the half-closed courtyard gate, his footsteps suddenly froze.

Under the glow of firelight and moonlight, Aunt Zhao lay at the kitchen door, covered by half a torn door curtain.

Her son and daughter-in-law lay in the middle of the courtyard, beneath them a pool of blood that had already half dried.

Her youngest grandson was curled up behind the water jar, his small body drawn into a ball like a sleeping child.

But the wound on his neck told everyone that he would never wake again.

Butcher Zhang stood in the courtyard without moving, like a stone statue.

Chen Jing remained silent. He could not find any words of comfort, nor did he know what to say.

Before transmigrating, he had been an ordinary person. Afterward, he had thought he had already adapted to this cruel world.

But standing in this blood-washed courtyard now, he realized he had been nowhere near prepared.

From the other end of the village came the roars of Wang Chong and the others, along with the clash of weapons. The battle was still continuing.