[Hunting the Head]

Even cutting grass for so long would wear a person out.

Let alone facing these ferocious Crimson Fire Bandits, brave and fearless, charging in with single-minded murderous intent.

Shen Xiu began consciously conserving his strength, no longer wasting effort. His blade strikes and punches became even more precise.

Silver Light flashed!

His fist force erupted!

Another sturdy Crimson Fire Bandit was left lying on the ground, staring at the moon.

Those Crimson Fire Bandits either had their chests pierced through, their heads blown apart, or their throats slit by a single slash.

Amid such a crowd,

Shen Xiu inevitably took a few scattered hits as well. But with his speed, after evading them, he had only suffered a few shallow bloody cuts. Nothing serious.

Once the area around him had cleared out and he suddenly no longer felt anyone swinging a blade at him, Shen Xiu swept his gaze around and discovered that, at this very moment, no one beside him remained standing.

Blood flowed into rivers across the field, corpses carpeting the ground.

The killing intent gathered around him nearly burst out of his body.

"If I do not die, I will make sure you die without a burial ground!"

Seeing Crimson Fire Stronghold slaughtered clean, Yang Long, as The Boss, felt both terror and boundless fury.

His eyes locked onto Shen Xiu's figure. Never before had he wanted so desperately to put someone to death.

"You should worry about yourself first!"

Yet Yang Jinhong threw back his head and laughed. Disregarding his own injuries entirely, he chose to trade wound for wound with Yang Long.

He gave Yang Long no chance at all

to break free and attack Shen Xiu.

This entanglement only drove Yang Long further into a towering rage. His earth-shattering fury was firmly blocked within his chest, the emotions within impossible to put into words.

He cast Shen Xiu a hard stare.

Yet he decisively chose the same wound-for-wound fighting style as Yang Jinhong.

By now, he had become a Village Chief without a single follower. He could only turn all that fury into strength and savagely strike the hateful man before him who had him tied down.

If his blade broke, he used his fists. If his fists broke, he used his legs.

He used every means imaginable, stopping at nothing.

After this incomparably fierce battle, both men had become utterly wretched sights.

Yang Jinhong was naked from head to toe, his body mottled with blood—his own and his opponent's mixed together.

His Indestructible Golden Body had long since become impossible to maintain under Yang Long's unceasing attacks. The only defense he still held onto was the lone courage in his chest.

Both of them were in equally terrible condition.

Seeing this, Shen Xiu judged that Yang Jinhong likely could not hold on much longer. He immediately drew a deep breath, raised his blade, and charged in.

But before he could arrive, Yang Jinhong suddenly let out a thunderous roar. Golden light flared over his body once more, and at that instant, blood faintly seeped from his nostrils and eardrums.

Facing Yang Long's incoming fist, he boldly thrust himself forward and met it with his body.

Yang Long's fist struck Yang Jinhong viciously in the chest, directly over his heart. With a heavy muffled thud, Yang Jinhong immediately spat out another mouthful of blood.

That blood

was an ominous, deep black.

Yet even after suffering such a heavy blow, he neither dodged nor retreated. Both hands clenched into fists as he savagely hammered Yang Long's undefended temples.

Yang Long only felt his head go blank. His consciousness turned hazy, nearly scattered apart by those twin fists.

Before he could react,

Yang Jinhong repeated the move. Those ruthless fists once again hammered fiercely into Yang Long's temples.

The next moment, his brain buzzed.

Then darkness fell over his eyes, and he sank into blackness.

Yang Jinhong looked at Yang Long, The Boss, whose ears, nose, and seven orifices were all streaming blood, and smiled calmly.

Endless soreness and pain surged from every inch of muscle throughout his body, flooding his consciousness from inside and out like heaven and earth collapsing upon him.

His wrist ached.

He spread his hand stiffly and weakly.

Yang Long's body then crumpled softly to the ground like a dead snake.

Everything had settled into dust.

Yang Jinhong also suddenly collapsed onto the ground. Looking up at the star-speckled sky and the bright moon like a jade disk,

he could not help but burst into loud laughter. His laughter was deafening, echoing through the entire Crimson Fire Stronghold.

As he laughed,

his eyes suddenly welled with tears...

Shen Xiu looked at the man who had suddenly fallen and lay upon the ground, and could not help feeling a jumble of emotions.

Thinking of something, he ran into the large residence of the Crimson Fire Bandits, rummaging through walls and cabinets one by one in search of pills to treat internal injuries.

Whenever he encountered a Crimson Fire Bandit hiding away, he sent out a blade without hesitation and ended them decisively.

After searching for a while, he found a locked medicine chest. He cut open the lock and lifted the lid, immediately discovering a scattered assortment of bottles and jars within.

After identifying several medicines for treating internal injuries, he hurried outside the main stronghold.

At some point, Yang Jinhong had already crawled to the steps outside the stronghold's main hall.

He sat upon the bluestone slabs, facing the opening on the other side of the valley, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon where daylight was slowly flushing red.

There,

the first light of dawn had gradually spread across the world.

When Yang Jinhong saw the several bottles of healing medicine Shen Xiu offered him, a trace of bleakness appeared on his face. Then he smiled and gently shook his head.

"Cough, cough... No need. They would be useless anyway. I am already an oil lamp burned dry. Even if a great immortal descended to the world, he would be powerless!"

After sighing, Pavilion Master Yang continued, "The matter of helping the martial arts hall escape its predicament can only be entrusted to you now. I have fought Wang Yuehu before and know that his cultivation is unstable. He has almost no possibility of breaking through into the Fourth Realm Return to Hiding. Even if he does, he would merely be an empty frame.

"If I am not mistaken, it is most likely a smokescreen he has released to ensure his plans succeed.

"From what I have seen of your strength, you are not without the power to fight him. You only need to beware of his poison..."

"There is no need to worry about me now. Go quickly... Kill him, then tell me. I will take him with me on the road..."

Yang Jinhong spoke with great difficulty, his voice growing softer the further he went.

He leaned back against the pillar behind him.

Facing Wang Yuehu, the culprit he hated to the bone, the man responsible for all this in the end, he had truly wanted to strike personally.

But in his current state,

his body was collapsing, his oil lamp entirely spent. No matter how intense his determination was at this moment, he feared he was powerless to do anything.

On the front mountain of White Tiger Ridge, along a mountain path somewhere,

"Pavilion Master Yang" was leading several instructors and disciples onward. No one spoke as they moved, every face solemn.

At their current speed, they would likely reach the Crimson Fire Stronghold, where their brothers had formed an encirclement, in the time it took to burn a stick of incense.

Yet Wang Yuehu was still dissatisfied.

If not for several disciples who had only just entered the First Realm dragging them down and slowing their pace, they would likely have arrived long ago.

But he could not reprimand them now. In these final moments, he still needed to maintain the good image of a pavilion master.

Lest complications arise.

A stick of incense, then a stick of incense it would be...

Thinking of the brothers waiting to receive him, Wang Yuehu could not help letting an involuntary smile appear at the coming dawn...