Counterattack!

Inside the tent, Lin Ming slowly opened his eyes. In the darkness, his gaze was calm without the slightest ripple. Only deep within his eyes did a trace of dark golden chill flash and vanish.

Wanted? Twenty million?

Chen Household... they moved quickly.

It seemed word of him killing Chen Dabiao had already spread. Even the mercenary groups in the Wilderness had received the news.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze seeming to pierce through the tent canvas and land in the direction of the mercenaries whispering their plans.

The corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly, forming a curve so cold it held no warmth at all.

Why was there always someone... forcing his hand?

Couldn't they just quietly share a meal, then go their separate ways tomorrow?

Why did they insist on... delivering their lives to him?

He closed his eyes again as though he had heard nothing. Yet the Silver Frost Spear across his knees seemed to tremble faintly, emitting a nearly inaudible hum.

The night deepened.

The camp fell completely silent, leaving only the crackling of the bonfire and the soft footsteps of the night watchmen.

Captain Zhou seemed to have gone farther out to patrol. Only two mercenaries remained on watch in the camp's central area, and they appeared distracted, their gazes repeatedly drifting toward Lin Ming's tent.

A figure sneaked over to the makeshift kitchen at the edge of the camp. He pulled a small paper packet from his clothes and carefully poured its colorless powder into the half-pot of hot soup deliberately left for the "guest," then stirred it evenly with a spoon.

Then he took out a bamboo tube, quietly lit a firestarter, and ignited one end of the tube. A faint wisp of green smoke with a sweetly bloody scent drifted soundlessly toward Lin Ming's tent.

It was Drunken Dream Powder and Bewitching Spirit Smoke, underhanded methods commonly used by lowlife mercenaries and bandits in the Wilderness. They could send someone into a deep sleep and were especially effective against low-level martial artists.

After finishing everything, the figure quickly retreated into the shadows and joined his companions. They exchanged looks, unable to conceal the greed and excitement in their eyes. They waited for the drugs to take effect.

Second by second, time passed. The camp was utterly silent, and even the faint breathing that had come from Lin Ming's tent seemed to have disappeared.

"It worked!" a mercenary said in a low, excited voice.

"Move! Be careful. Don't make too much noise. It'll be trouble if we alert the captain and Miss Xia."

Old Fourth, the one who had found the name "Lin Ming" familiar during the day, took the lead. A desperate ruthlessness flashed in his eyes as he drew a poisoned dagger from his waist, crouched low, and crept toward Lin Ming's tent. The other five or six men also drew their weapons and followed close behind.

They moved quietly and skillfully. Clearly, this was not their first time pulling off such a dirty robbery.

Soon, they arrived outside Lin Ming's tent. Holding his breath, Old Fourth gently lifted the tent flap with his dagger and peered inside.

The dying light of the bonfire filtered through the gap. Lin Ming lay on his side in his sleeping bag with his back to the entrance, seemingly fast asleep. The Silver Frost Spear rested beside his hand. His breathing was even, and he did not move.

"He's out cold!" Old Fourth rejoiced inwardly and gestured to those behind him.

He took a deep breath, vicious light blazing in his eyes. He suddenly stepped into the tent, his poisoned dagger gleaming an eerie blue in the dim light as he slashed viciously at Lin Ming's exposed neck!

If this strike landed, it would sever his windpipe and artery, killing him instantly! They wanted a dead man anyway, and ten million was enough to split among them!

However.

At the very instant the dagger's edge was about to touch Lin Ming's skin!

A well-defined hand, slender and powerful yet seemingly containing terrifying strength, appeared out of nowhere. With effortless precision, it caught Old Fourth's dagger-wielding wrist!

That hand was icy and steady, as if forged from steel.

"What?!"

The sneer on Old Fourth's face instantly froze, replaced by boundless terror! He tried to struggle, only to find his wrist clamped as if welded inside iron pincers, utterly immovable!

An overwhelming force surged through it, making his wrist bones creak as excruciating pain pierced his heart!

Inside the tent, the "prey" who should have been drugged slowly turned around.

There was no grogginess, no panic.

Only a pair of eyes that shone startlingly in the darkness, as calm as an ancient frozen lake yet burning with cold flames, looked at him indifferently.

"Why," Lin Ming said. His voice was not loud and barely fluctuated, yet it made every hair on Old Fourth and the mercenaries peeking outside stand on end, as though they had fallen into an ice cellar.

"Do you always have to force me?"

Before his words had faded, Lin Ming lightly twisted the hand gripping Old Fourth's wrist.

Crack!!!

The crisp, teeth-grinding sound of breaking bone was especially piercing within the silent tent!

"Aah!!!" Old Fourth let out a shriek like a slaughtered pig. His wrist twisted at a grotesque angle, and the dagger clattered to the ground. But the scream lasted only half a second.

Because Lin Ming's other hand had already shot out like lightning. His five fingers formed a claw, tearing through the air with a shrill whistle as they clamped viciously around Old Fourth's throat!

Crunch!

A dull sound came from his crushed throat bone.

Old Fourth's scream stopped abruptly. His eyes bulged wide, filled with endless terror, pain, and disbelief as he stared fixedly at Lin Ming, who stood so close.

His mouth opened and closed futilely, but he could make no sound. Blood only gushed from the corners of his mouth and his shattered throat.

With a flick of his wrist, Lin Ming flung Old Fourth's twitching corpse out of the tent as if tossing away trash. It struck the open ground in the camp with a heavy thud.

All of this happened in the blink of an eye.

The greed and excitement on the faces of the mercenaries outside had not yet faded before they were instantly replaced by boundless fear and stupefaction.

They stared at Old Fourth's corpse on the ground, his eyes still wide open in death. Then they looked at the young man who slowly rose at the tent entrance, brushing nonexistent dust from himself, his gaze terrifyingly calm. Their minds went blank.

Dead?

Old Fourth... a seasoned Third Layer Second Realm fighter, had been... killed in an instant?!

"Kill him! Get him together!!"

No one knew who first let out the distorted howl. The remaining five or six mercenaries, like cats whose tails had been stepped on, charged Lin Ming with bloodshot eyes, waving swords and blades and screaming wildly! They knew that at this point, it was kill or be killed!

Lin Ming watched these mercenaries charge at him like madmen, and his eyes did not ripple in the slightest. He did not even use the Silver Frost Spear.

The Dragon Roaming Step activated beneath his feet. His body moved like a ghost, leaving blurred afterimages throughout the cramped space and amid the mercenaries' encirclement.

His hands became fists, palms, and fingers. Every strike landed precisely on a vital point.

Crack! One mercenary's sword-wielding arm was broken by a palm strike, the fractured bone piercing through flesh.

Bang! Another mercenary took a punch to the chest. His breastbone caved in as he spat blood and flew backward, crashing into the bonfire and sending sparks flying.

Slash! Lin Ming's fingertips swept across the third mercenary's throat, leaving a line of blood. He collapsed limply without even a groan.