Chapter 80: Encounter with the Enemy

This token is the personal artifact of Master Wang, and whoever holds it may temporarily issue orders to all disciples below the Elder rank; this fatty is Master Wang’s personal confidant, rumored to be a close relative, so whenever Master Wang has verbal messages or commands, he sends them through this man.

Not long ago, Master Wang hastily bestowed this token upon him to come here and summon Elder Li up the mountain for a meeting; but after delivering the order, the fatty thought it too exhausting to descend from Sunset Peak and immediately return, so relying on his favored status, he insisted on staying at Elder Li’s residence for a rest before going back up.

With no choice, Elder Li agreed, but he dared not delay—he hurried off to Sunset Peak with Zhang Xiuer and several other disciples.

Soon after, a great upheaval occurred on the mountain; the fatty, being utterly cowardly, naturally had no desire to return alone.

The people in the courtyard were family members of the Seven Mysteries Sect’s followers living nearby; most of them knew no martial arts, so when chaos erupted, they panicked, utterly at a loss.

Fortunately, Ma Rong had sound judgment—he quickly requested the twenty-odd men left behind by Li Feiyu to help gather these people into one group, keeping them contained to prevent them from fleeing blindly in the dark and meeting with misfortune.

Because this place was remote, built in a mountain hollow, though they heard alarm cries and battle shouts, none here had any idea of what was happening outside.

After finishing this, Ma Rong planned to send someone out to gather intelligence; but at that moment, the utterly unarmed fatty reappeared—he not only halted the reconnaissance effort, but used the token to seize command of these Outer Blade Hall disciples, then intended to huddle here, pretending nothing was happening.

Ma Rong well understood the importance of knowing the enemy’s situation; he argued with the fatty several times, but each time the coward, wielding Master Wang’s token, forcibly suppressed him—even forbidding Ma Rong from going out to scout himself; clearly, he regarded Ma Rong as nothing more than a personal shield for his own survival.

Thus, Ma Rong paced frantically in the parlor like an ant on a hot pan, powerless against this ignorant fatty; he knew full well that in the Seven Mysteries Sect, disobeying orders and acting independently was a grave offense—minor punishment meant stripping one’s martial arts and expelling them from the sect, major punishment meant death by beheading. Thus, though he knew a monumental event was unfolding outside, and that his sect might be facing annihilation, he could not move an inch.

Just as Ma Rong longed to strike down this so-called superior with a single palm blow, Han Li and Li Feiyu remained utterly unaware of all this, still racing toward the location.

Along the way, they avoided enemy traces whenever possible, concealing their movements until, just over a li from Elder Li’s residence, they were suddenly confronted by a group of men in blue robes—there was no more hiding, and they made their first direct contact with the enemy.

Now, over a dozen men in blue robes wielding steel blades surrounded them from all sides, trapping them in the center.

Judging by their footwork, most of those with a single white line embroidered on their sleeves were the weakest; the two with two white lines were significantly stronger; but the strongest was the man with three white lines and a scar across his face—he was clearly the leader.

The scarred leader also carefully studied the few men he had surrounded; he felt a strange unease.

It was no wonder: among these three, Li Feiyu now had disheveled, filthy, tattered hair, looking like a mountain cook; Han Li had dull eyes and dark skin, resembling an untrained peasant; the only one who brought any pressure was Qu Hun—tall, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, his body still stained with blood.

These three oddly mismatched figures standing together—even a self-proclaimed veteran of the martial arts world like this leader was baffled.

He gave his men a warning glance, then shouted loudly across: “Whoever you are, the Seven Mysteries Sect is finished—surrender now, and I’ll spare your lives!”

Han Li smiled, turning to Li Feiyu: “Who’s going first? You or Qu Hun?”

Li Feiyu’s eyes flashed with ferocity; he growled: “These men, by their attire, are low-ranking disciples of the Broken Water Sect. I’ve been hunted by the Wild Wolf Gang for so long—let me vent my rage on them first! And their weapons suit me perfectly.”

Before he finished speaking, he shot forward like a streak of rainbow light, instantly reaching the nearest blue-robed man.

The man gasped in shock, raising his blade—suddenly his grip felt light, and the sword was already in the enemy’s hand; he frantically retreated, but it was too late—a flash of white light passed before his eyes, and his head separated from his body.

Li Feiyu’s entire sequence of movements was clean, precise, and lightning-fast; before the remaining Broken Water disciples could react, he had already seized a blade and killed a man.

The others’ faces turned pale, especially the scarred leader—his martial skill far surpassed the rest, so his heart sank the deepest. He knew instantly he faced an extraordinary master, far beyond their ability to resist; he gave a decisive order:

“All retreat! Save whoever can—sound the signal immediately, call for reinforcements!”

His words jolted the blue-robed men; they burst apart in all directions, fleeing wildly—some even reached into their chests as they ran, clearly reaching for their signals.

One blue-robed man with two white lines ran fastest—within a few leaps, he had escaped dozens of paces away.

He felt a surge of joy, thinking escape was within reach—then suddenly, a chill touched his nape; a half-inch-long sword tip burst out from his throat, vanished instantly. He froze in horror, wanting to scream, but his body felt drained of all strength, limp and powerless; he watched helplessly as his own body slowly collapsed, falling backward onto the ground, utterly motionless.

Only then did he realize—he had been stabbed clean through the throat from behind.

He could not accept it—he had escaped so far, yet died so quickly?

With great effort, he twisted his head aside—and saw his final sight: a dark shadow flickered briefly behind the farthest fleeing blue-robed man, delivered a light thrust, then vanished; instantly, it reappeared behind another disciple, another flash of white light—by then, the first man he had just watched die had only now collapsed onto the grass, blood spurting from his throat.

After witnessing all this, the blue-robed man smiled calmly as he died—he knew he would not be alone; many others would soon join him. That ghostly shadow would spare none of them.

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