Slaughter

The weather in Pingyang City was fine that day.

The wind blew, but the sun shone bright. The autumn sun and wind felt comfortable together. Neither too hot nor too cold, just right.

Plane-tree leaves rustled down along the street, spinning as they fell until they covered the ground in gold. Whenever the wind passed, more fell, their rustling unbroken.

It was as if something momentous was about to happen, and heaven and earth had fallen a little quieter first.

At the Welcome Inn, Chen Chong sensed more and more people gathering outside.

He sensed them in the pavilion across the street, the tea shop to the left, the second floor of the cloth shop to the right, even on the roof of the pawnshop diagonally behind the inn.

Their presences came one after another. Some were steady, others unstable. None were particularly well hidden.

Dozens of people were scattered around, surrounding the Welcome Inn so tightly that not even water could pass through.

The one leading them was in the pavilion opposite. His Bone-Forging Stage presence was heavy, like a piece of red-hot iron, holding down its anger as it waited to erupt.

A faint smile touched Chen Chong's lips. Perfect. Once he dealt with this lot, he could catch his ride.

A carriage, that was. The Hundred Treasures Pavilion convoy was leaving today too.

He couldn't help smiling. What a coincidence. So perfect it seemed heaven itself had arranged it.

He opened his door, went downstairs, and crossed the inn's main hall.

Behind the counter, the innkeeper's expression shifted when he saw Chen Chong come down. His lips moved as though he wanted to say something, but in the end, he didn't dare speak.

Chen Chong nodded to him, pushed open the front door, and stepped outside.

The moment his foot touched the street, a rain of arrows flew at him.

From every direction: the pavilion windows, behind the tea shop's curtains, the cloth shop's second floor, behind the roof ridge. Crossbow mechanisms snapped in a clatter like rain striking banana leaves, and short bolts shrieked through the air.

Dozens of bolts, their poison-tipped heads glinting coldly, shot toward Chen Chong at once.

Clang, clang, clatter!

The impacts rang out one after another, striking Chen Chong like some strange percussion performance. Short bolts hit his chest, back, shoulders, arms, and legs, clanging and throwing sparks.

The three-edged iron heads struck his skin as though they had hit an iron wall. Tips crumpled, shafts broke, and bolts fell to the ground. A few struck the same spot, but even those left only faint white marks. Not a drop of blood appeared.

On the panel, the words "Profound Abyss Dragon-Tiger True Canon: Grand Perfection" shone brightly.

That was why he had walked straight out. What mattered most was dealing with these people quickly and setting off for Anyang Commandery.

Inside the pavilion, Wan Qinghe's face grew grave.

A body-hardening technique. After seeing the result of that volley, his heart sank.

Crossbow bolts were useless against an expert trained like this. Dozens of hits had amounted to little more than a tickle.

He tightened his grip on his short clubs. The two dark iron clubs were each as long as an arm, their shafts polished bright and their ends capped with copper. While he considered how to respond, Chen Chong charged into the crowd.

He harvested lives with brutal ease, like chopping melons and slicing vegetables. He stepped forward, his blade flashed, and three people fell. Another step, another flash, and two more went down. He darted across the street so fast he looked like an afterimage.

His blade rose and fell. Not one stroke missed.

One man raised his sword to block and was split in two along with it. Another turned to run and took a blade through his back and out his chest. A third dropped to his knees to beg for mercy, but the edge had already swept across his throat.

Like a wild beast, Chen Chong took one life, sometimes several, with every stroke. Blood sprayed across the stone paving, staining the plane-tree leaves red.

The feeling sent adrenaline surging through Chen Chong, filling him with a sickening exhilaration. It wasn't a thirst for killing. It was the thrill of overwhelming strength.

Back in Dingshan County, he had been cautious at every turn. Even after killing someone, he'd had to hide the body and erase the evidence.

Now he had reached the Bone Tempering Realm, perfected his body-hardening art, and held Ravine-Returning Profound Severance in his hand. He no longer needed to hide.

Watching from the pavilion, Wan Qinghe's spirits plunged to freezing depths.

He had dozens of men under him: more than ten at the Flesh-Nourishing Stage, two or three at the Tendon-Vibrating Stage, and countless more practicing Skin Tempering and Qi-Nourishing.

Yet before this man, they might as well have been made of paper. Three breaths, five breaths, ten. Bodies already littered the street. The survivors scattered, some ducking into alleys, others hiding inside buildings.

Chen Chong didn't pursue them. If they escaped, they escaped. He didn't care.

What mattered to him was the Bone-Forging Stage presence in the pavilion, and another hidden in the shadows on the other side.

"Brother Lu, let's attack together."

Lu Chengfeng emerged from the shadows. He was in his forties, lean, and dressed in a drab gray robe, like an impoverished scholar.

But his presence was tightly contained, concealed until the moment he struck, like a snake hidden in the grass. Looking at Chen Chong outside, even he felt a little unnerved.

"A body-hardening art. You really don't see those often."

"But if the two of us join forces, we should be able to wear him down." Wan Qinghe tightened his grip on his short clubs. "Brother Wan, if this works out, you'll have to pay me a little more."

Wan Qinghe nodded. Then he charged out.

He swept through the pavilion window, striking with a short club in each hand as he bore down on Chen Chong. The people outside were his men, after all.

Most were already dead, but he couldn't simply let Chen Chong slaughter them.

Unleashing the full strength of the Bone-Forging Stage, he swung his short clubs from both sides at Chen Chong's temples, the weapons howling through the air.

Chen Chong sensed Wan Qinghe drawing closer and drove him back with a casual punch.

The force of the punch struck the clubs. Wan Qinghe's arms went numb, and he staggered back five or six steps, his soles scraping two white streaks across the ground.

His expression changed. He had expected Chen Chong to be strong, but not this strong.

Then Chen Chong turned toward the other side.

Lu Chengfeng had slipped behind him, a short dagger stabbing soundlessly toward his lower back.

Then came a single stroke. Ravine-Returning Profound Severance.

The blade's light swept out like a bolt of silk, like a mountain collapsing. Lu Chengfeng's heart clenched, and he dodged at the very limit of his ability.

His body twisted half a foot aside, like a leaf blown off course by the wind. But his arm stayed behind. It was severed cleanly at the left shoulder, blood gushing out and splashing across his face.

Lu Chengfeng's face went deathly pale. He wanted to retreat. The art he practiced emphasized agility and stealth; even among fighters of the same realm, he was a difficult opponent.

But he hadn't expected to have nowhere to hide before Chen Chong. The blade intent of Ravine-Returning Profound Severance had locked onto him, pressing down like a mountain over his head. He could barely move.

Wan Qinghe swung his short clubs at Chen Chong. Lu Chengfeng seized the chance to withdraw, his feet carrying him toward the alley.

Then came another stroke.

Lu Chengfeng watched the blade descend like a collapsing mountain. Despair seized him. He wanted to dodge, but it was too fast.

He felt his consciousness fading and saw the other half of his own body.

The blade flashed, splitting his body diagonally in two at the waist. His upper half flew away while his lower half remained standing. Blood poured across the ground like water from an overturned bucket.

Wan Qinghe's short club struck Chen Chong.

Clang!

With a sharp ring, the club bounced back, jolting Wan Qinghe's grip hard enough to split the skin between his thumb and forefinger.

Chen Chong acted as though nothing had happened and seized the club. He held the copper-capped wooden shaft in his palm and tightened his five fingers. The wood creaked and groaned.

Wan Qinghe was yanked forward by the club. His feet stumbled, and he was dragged right in front of Chen Chong.

Seeing Chen Chong loom closer, Wan Qinghe struck out instinctively with his palm.

His right palm shot toward Chen Chong's face, carrying all the force of the Bone-Forging Stage.

But Chen Chong was faster. He released the club, caught Wan Qinghe's hand with his other hand, locked his fingers between Wan Qinghe's, and tore.

Riiip!

The entire hand was ripped off at the wrist.

Skin, bone, and half the forearm came with it. Wan Qinghe screamed, the sound shrill and agonized.

Before he could scream a second time, the blade turned. Chen Chong slashed upward at an angle across Wan Qinghe's neck. His head flew into the air, tumbled once, and landed among the plane-tree leaves beside the street. He fell silent.

The street went quiet.

The wind still blew, and plane-tree leaves still fell. Their rustling filled the stone-paved road.

Chen Chong sheathed his blade and looked around.

Dozens of bodies lay in the street, their blood gathering into rivulets that ran between the paving stones. The two halves of Lu Chengfeng's body lay at the alley entrance. Wan Qinghe's head had rolled beside a tree root, its eyes still open.

Chen Chong straightened his robe and wiped a drop of blood from his face.

Then he turned and headed toward the Hundred Treasures Pavilion. Its convoy was leaving today. He still had a journey ahead.