Chapter Sixty-Seven: Wanting to Test the Strength of a Ranked Martial Artist

Wu Gang had only just received the news. He had found it odd when his younger brother failed to return that evening and had immediately sent out men to search for him. Yet, unexpectedly, the concrete details came from the police. His brother had died a miserable death—and as for his trusted lieutenant, Black Snake, it was even worse. The man’s spine had been broken, and his body was hung from a tree, an ignominious and shameful end. Wu Gang had even caught a glimmer of schadenfreude in the eyes of a few policemen.

Night had already fallen, and no real answers had surfaced. All they knew was that the incident was certainly tied to students from Lanxin Secondary School. The students had all gone home; for now, whatever suspicions he might have, he could only wait for the next day.

He swore that once the culprit was found, regardless of their background or whatever official explanation was given, he would personally exact vengeance—tearing the murderer to pieces.

…

On the light screen, a shadow flitted by, already climbing to the third floor. It was clear that the figure’s pace had slowed considerably. The surveillance footage showed only a baseball cap and a grotesque mask; the figure seemed broad-shouldered, but that couldn’t be confirmed—whoever it was had clearly disguised themselves. The hair might be long or short... the fingers slender, the sword blade keen. Beyond that, they couldn’t even determine the intruder’s gender.

“This is no amateur—the simple disguise, it’s not just to fool you, but perhaps also the Yuangjiang authorities… It shows the person’s confidence, convinced they’ll kill everyone here and leave unscathed,” remarked a clear, melodious voice with a faintly strange cadence.

Wu Gang turned to ask, “Mr. Hu, do you think luring him into the room will work?”

“Of course! Look at how terrified he is of bullets, how he avoids even a single shot—it’s obvious this person isn’t a true martial artist, hasn’t even passed the level of skin and muscle tempering… He’s only made it this far by relying on his agility and swordsmanship. Let him come in; I’ll help you as well. When we sever his head, just remember not to neglect our main purpose,” replied a young man in a pristine white suit.

He sat on the sofa, swirling red wine in his hand, smiling as if he gave the opponent outside not the slightest consideration. His skin was delicate as a maiden’s, his features as finely drawn as a painting, yet an unmistakable air of heroism about him left no doubt as to his gender.

“Fine. As for manpower, Yuangjiang City has plenty. If I, Wu Gang of Night Fragrance, give the word, gathering hundreds—if not thousands—for your organization is trivial,” Wu Gang said, making a gesture.

Standing silently to the side, four burly men in black, faces expressionless, hefted submachine guns and aimed them at the door. They formed a row, poised for action.

Wu Gang himself picked up a broad-backed saber, his left hand running over the blade’s dark, crimson sheen—his gaze icy cold. He stood behind his four subordinates, closing his eyes halfway to steady his breath.

Beside him, White Eagle flexed slender fingers, the tips of his shoes tapping the floor, itching for the fight to begin.

…

The woman in red, however, still lounged languidly on the sofa, carelessly tugging her collar open to reveal a tempting expanse of pale skin. Her eyes glistened with a sultry charm. One hand reached beneath the sofa, a pose that could arouse idle thoughts, but in truth, she gripped a small silver pistol.

Though their words suggested indifference to the approaching enemy, the fact that none dared leave the room to confront him—and instead prepared for a desperate defense—made it clear that no one was at ease. Their foe, with his deadly sword and uncanny movements, was simply too ruthless.

He had made his way here, leaving no survivors along his path—yet there was not a drop of blood on his sword or his person. That signified something: he hadn’t even exerted himself.

…

“There were thirty-eight enforcers on the first and second floors. All dead,” Xiao Nan sensed the remaining life forces scurrying through the hall below, the corners of his mouth twitching with a silent smile.

Better to kill too many than too few.

His way of distinguishing friend from foe was something no one would ever guess—it wasn’t simply about sensing strong life force. After all, there were powerful customers in the booths and on the dance floor below. But regardless of whether you were part of Night Fragrance or not, if you didn’t attack, he left you alone. Only those harboring ill intent, ready to strike, faced certain death—be they guest or hired thug.

…

Reaching the third floor, Xiao Nan halted. Even through the corridor and the closed door, he could hear their conversation with perfect clarity. One person was setting an ambush, another tried to entice him to join their group…

Yet what caught his attention most was that this Wu boss seemed so devoted to his brother. That was interesting.

“Your brother’s life is precious, but others’ lives are worthless? Preying on young girls is just a little hobby? Just a way to relax? Very well, I’ll help you relax…” A cold gleam flickered in Xiao Nan’s eyes. His sword pointed diagonally to the floor as he advanced step by step.

That they could see his every move was hardly surprising. In these times, even walking down the street, you had to beware of cameras hidden in every corner… Otherwise, why dress so ridiculously, why wear a hat at night, looking half-crazed? It was all to prevent a moment’s carelessness from exposing his face and leading to his identification.

…

From the first floor to the third, there were cameras everywhere. Xiao Nan glanced around, pulled a few coins from his pocket, and flicked them out. With sharp cracks, the lenses shattered to pieces. The faint sense of being watched faded from his mind.

He reached for the corpse of a large, burly man—one whom he had slain with a single sword-thrust to the brow, the force having shattered the skull. The body bore no external wounds; even carrying it, not a drop of blood stained his hands.

He walked to the door.

Raising one leg, he focused his strength and kicked. The corpse in his hands flew forward like a cannonball, smashing into the wooden door with a thunderous crash. The red-and-yellow wooden door shattered into a dozen splinters, flying inward like arrows. Sawdust sprayed through the air like rain.

“Tat-tat-tat…” The staccato burst of gunfire roared like a storm, bullets tearing through flesh and wood, whistling into the corridor outside—a web of fire.

“Something’s wrong, he’s not inside—watch out!” White Eagle shrieked.

“He’s on the ground—lower your aim!” Wu Gang bellowed, raising his heavy broad-bladed saber and barging between his men, bringing the blade down in a mighty arc. The room echoed with the roar of the saber’s swing.

“Excellent technique, quite the presence,” a light laugh sounded in everyone’s ears, followed by the simultaneous screams of the four burly men, who collapsed, writhing in agony.

In the blind spot of their vision, below the arc of their gunfire, a figure slid in along the ground like lightning. With a casual sweep, the sword flashed like breaking waves—one perfect, shimmering line. Four men, eight legs, severed at once. Silver light flickered and vanished, and only then did the sharp ring of the blade reach their ears.

Now the saber’s wind pressed down like a mountain, its force surging forward.

After the spinning slash, Xiao Nan bent his left leg, right leg ready like a drawn bow, settling into a slanted stance. His hips and waist sank, and his sword swept around his shoulder in a sudden upward strike.

He had long wished to test himself against a martial artist of the first rank.