Madness

The first to bear the brunt were the six Inner Disciples before him.

The six Inner Disciples were startled by his sudden movement and instinctively took two steps back.

But when they saw Ning Chen's ferocious expression, a trace of fear rose in their hearts as well.

"W-What's wrong with him?" one disciple asked tremulously.

No one could answer him.

Ning Chen slowly turned his head, his bloodshot eyes locking onto the disciple closest to him.

The instant that person met his gaze, a chill ran down his spine, as though he were prey being watched by a savage beast.

"W-What are you trying to do?!" Fighting back his fear, the man raised the wooden stick in his hand and brought it down toward Ning Chen's head.

But this time, Ning Chen did not dodge at all.

He reached out and firmly caught the wooden stick swinging toward him.

The disciple's eyes widened. He yanked back with all his strength, only to find that the stick seemed caught in iron pincers, utterly unmoving.

The next moment, Ning Chen twisted his wrist, and a brutal force surged through his arm, dragging the disciple forward several staggering steps along with the stick.

Then Ning Chen clenched his other hand into a fist and viciously smashed it into the man's face.

"Crack!"

It was the sound of a nose bridge breaking.

Blood sprayed from the man's nostrils. He let out a shrill scream and fell backward.

Seizing the chance, Ning Chen lunged forward. He grabbed the man by the hair and yanked him down hard, driving his right knee upward at the same time.

Another "crack" rang out. The knee strike landed squarely on the man's face, shattering several of his teeth and sending them spraying from his mouth with blood.

His scream had turned into an incoherent whimper, and his consciousness blurred into nothingness.

"Aah!"

Ning Chen roared again. It no longer sounded like it came from the throat of an eight-year-old child, but like the howl of a wounded beast.

Grasping the Inner Disciple by the hair and belt with both hands, he actually lifted the youth—nearly a head taller and far heavier than himself—over his head!

The disciple was already barely conscious, mumbling indistinctly as blood dripped from his chin, staining half of Ning Chen's sleeve red.

Veins bulged on Ning Chen's arms, and his blood-red eyes were filled with madness. He held the man high overhead, spun more than halfway around, then hurled him fiercely toward a thick tree trunk nearby!

A muffled boom exploded through the forest.

The disciple's back slammed heavily into the trunk. The massive impact bent his body violently backward with the force of inertia, twisting him into an almost unnatural angle.

Then came a crisp, horrifying "crack." It was the sound of his spine breaking.

His body slowly slid down the trunk. Blood gushed from his mouth and nose, his eyes wide open, his pupils already unfocused.

When he reached the roots, his body twitched twice before falling completely still.

The clearing fell deathly silent.

The remaining five Inner Disciples had witnessed the bloody scene and stood frozen in place.

The air was thick with the stench of blood, mixed with the scent of soil and grass, churning their stomachs.

The corpse against the trunk was still slowly sliding down. Blood snaked along the bark, leaving a shocking red streak across the gray-brown tree.

"H-He killed someone..."

No one knew who said it, but the trembling words struck everyone's hearts like a heavy hammer.

The five exchanged glances, seeing the same thought in one another's eyes: Run!

Yet before they could turn around, Ning Chen moved.

He was far too fast for an eight-year-old. He charged at the second disciple closest to him. Before the man could raise his wooden stick, Ning Chen tackled him to the ground.

The two rolled and grappled across the leaf-strewn ground. The disciple was a head taller than Ning Chen and had the advantage in weight, yet he was completely suppressed.

Because Ning Chen did not defend or evade. He only attacked.

His fists, knees, even his teeth—every part of his body became a weapon, raining down crazily upon the disciple.

"Get off me! Get off me!" the disciple cried in terror, wildly swinging his fists into Ning Chen's face and shoulders.

But Ning Chen seemed unable to feel pain. He let those fists land on him while his own hands never stopped moving.

Punch after punch hammered into the man's face until his nose collapsed, his eye sockets split open, and his lips became a bloody mess.

Even after the skin on his knuckles split open and blood streamed down his hands, he showed no intention of stopping.

Not until the man's hands fell limply to the ground, unable to move again.

The remaining four Inner Disciples were already scared out of their wits. Scrambling and crawling, they fled desperately into the depths of the forest without even daring to look back.

Their frantic footsteps and snapping branches sounded from the brush before quickly fading into the distance.

Ning Chen stood where he was, his chest heaving violently as he gulped down ragged breaths. His hands trembled slightly.

He could feel that violent power receding, and his reason slowly returning.

Blood dripped from his fingertips, drop by drop, spreading into dark red flowers among the withered yellow leaves.

He slowly turned his head, his gaze falling on the moon-white figure at the edge of the clearing.

Ning Rongrong had collapsed onto the ground.

Her delicate face was pale as paper, without a trace of color.

Those large eyes, usually gleaming with cunning light, were now wide open, her pupils contracted to pinpoints with fear.

Her lips trembled constantly. She wanted to say something, but could not force out a single word. Only the faint clacking of her teeth could be heard.

She watched the blood-soaked boy walk toward her, watched the blood of those two disciples staining his face, hands, and lapels.

She watched Ning Chen's eyes, still not entirely free of their bloody color, stare unblinking at her.

She had never imagined that the brother she considered worthless could become like this.

"D-Don't come any closer!" Her voice was thick with tears. Her legs had gone so weak from terror that she could not move an inch.

Her current wretched state was utterly different from her usual spoiled arrogance.

Ning Chen did not stop.

Step by step, he walked up to Ning Rongrong and looked down at her.

The dim yellow light of the setting sun filtered through gaps in the leaves, casting shifting shadows over his bloodstained face and making him look especially terrifying.

He slowly raised his blood-covered right hand.

Ning Rongrong closed her eyes, tears sliding down her cheeks.

But that hand did not fall.

The blood-red color in Ning Chen's eyes receded as swiftly as the tide. His body swayed, then he pitched forward and crashed heavily onto the ground at Ning Rongrong's feet, kicking up a small cloud of dust.