Chapter 44: The Thunder of One Man

Chu Tianshu laughed, but he was not the first to move.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

In the span of a single finger snap, six gunshots rang out in rapid succession.

Xiao Hu had both pistols drawn, and when he fired, he did not extend his arms or raise them to aim as usual.

He kept his elbows bent, the guns pressed against his sides; with only the slightest motion of his hands, he could shift the firing direction.

Generally, this shooting style—keeping the eyes off the gun—is disadvantageous for aiming, suitable only for close-quarters face-to-face combat.

But for a marksman like Xiao Hu, they don’t rely on sight to aim; they rely on instinct.

If he extended his arms to fire, recoil would be more pronounced during rapid shots, movements would be larger, and the changing angles would be easy to predict—impossible to hit elite ninjas.

But with this method, six bursts of blood erupted from the trees.

Six ninjas emerged from the woods.

Three fell to the ground; the other three, wounded, vanished in a flash, as if merging into the surrounding trees.

Their concealment technique relied on mental energy; in the instant of intense pain, their mental focus wavered, causing a brief exposure.

But they were accustomed to enduring pain, and in that instant, they concealed themselves again, using the trees as cover.

Chu Tianshu struck at this moment.

His figure moved like a twisting gale, sweeping past the three trees as nodes.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

On the rough bark of each tree, a deep palm print appeared.

The combined force of Dragon Coiling Body and Food as Immortality merged hardness and softness, the palm power piercing through the wood.

The three ninjas hiding behind the trees had their chest garments explode outward, blood spraying, their forms revealed as they collapsed to the ground.

Suddenly, a sharp whistling pierced the air, emanating from an unseen location.

Cross-shaped darts, iron gears, flying needles, nails, and kunai rained down like a storm.

Chu Tianshu’s palms became the claws of a raging ape; his fingers drove inward with force, sinking into the bark of two nearby trees with a crack.

He tore off two thick slabs of bark, each half a man’s size, twisting his waist as he hurled them into the air.

The two slabs of bark spun like giant door panels in midair.

Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Most of the hidden weapons were blocked by the bark.

Then two more shots fired, piercing through the bark.

Two ninjas, clinging to the trees with one hand, tumbled down.

Zhong Jinqiu and Lao Yu leapt high into the air simultaneously, each sweeping a streak of blood through the space.

By the time they landed, two more ninjas on the trees fell crashing down.

Another sharp whistle flashed through the forest.

This time, the hidden weapons were not aimed at living targets—but at sparrows.

Five or six sparrows exploded into paper shreds midair; thin streams of smoke shot out like fine arrows, returning to Ma Zhanggu’s side.

Ma Zhanggu had long released the spirit-sparrows he had trained.

Though the ninjas’ concealment was powerful, even skilled martial artists could only detect them at close range; gunners could not shoot from afar.

But these spirit-sparrows, being yin spirits, pure and calm, were exquisitely sensitive.

Ma Zhanggu used the “Spirit Servant Borrowed Sight” technique, turning the sparrows into sensors to detect the ninjas’ positions.

Beforehand, they had agreed: once the ninjas entered the forest, Ma Zhanggu would send the sparrows to hover ten feet above the heads of the ninja vanguard.

Xiao Hu used this to pinpoint the ninjas’ locations and fired early.

Unfortunately, the ninjas reacted swiftly—they had already sensed the problem.

“Fire Bird Purifies Impurity, Spirit Official Guards the Law!”

Ma Zhanggu suddenly opened his eyes wide, pointing his finger upward.

The talismans hidden within the fur seams of the donkey cart flew out at once.

These dozen talismans were not only drawn on premium spirit-paper with fine zhu sha, but each bore three stacked incantations, not just one.

As the dozen talismans collided in midair, they erupted in blinding, blinding light.

For a brief moment, the entire forest was reduced to only black and white under the fierce illumination.

Ma Zhanggu himself was blinded instantly, his eyes white, burning and aching, seeing nothing.

From other parts of the forest, at least four or five muffled groans echoed.

The black-clad ninjas flickered in and out, each lowering their heads hastily.

Lao Yu staggered sideways, as if using his shoulder to brush aside falling leaves; silver light stretched from his hand, slashing toward a ninja’s neck.

They had all lowered their heads and squinted before Ma Zhanggu activated the talismans.

They judged positions solely by the flickering shadows on the ground.

Though the ninja’s vision was impaired, he suddenly raised his left arm, reversing his short-handled katana—and blocked Lao Yu’s slash.

But as Lao Yu’s blade was deflected, his left arm jerked forward, driving the hilt into the ninja’s chest.

The blade failed to kill; the hilt did.

Zhong Jinqiu moved faster, stepping in Taiji rhythm, his body darting like a spirit serpent.

He had indeed found a narrow-bladed long sword in Wu Family Village, straight-backed like a sword.

Better than expected—it was not only narrow and sharp, but also remarkably flexible.

As wielded by this Taiji master, the narrow blade suddenly straightened like a line, piercing straight through the tree trunk to kill the ninja behind it.

When blocked by the katana, the blade bent into a full arc, its tip stabbing sideways into the second ninja’s neck.

But when Zhong Jinqiu struck at the third ninja, the ninja suddenly raised his left hand, offering his palm to the blade.

Zhong Jinqiu sensed danger instantly, twisting the blade mid-strike.

The ninja’s left hand struck only the spine of the blade—with a metallic ping.

Yet the tip still pierced his chest.

Zhong Jinqiu recognized the hand as a prosthetic; a suspicion stirred, his pupils flickering.

At that moment, a loud explosion came from Lao Yu’s side.

As he swung his blade, a ninja blocked with his right arm; though a warning flashed in his mind, he was one-armed, unbalanced, and in his furious charge, he could not react in time.

The blade still cut in.

The seemingly intact right forearm exploded on impact.

The ninja was instantly killed; Lao Yu was thrown backward, crashing into a tree.

He had used the prosthetic to shield his vital points, but still suffered five or six shrapnel wounds.

“Poisoned!”

Zhong Jinqiu rushed over, slapping his back; several shrapnel pieces flew out, along with the poisoned blood.

But the blood loss turned Lao Yu’s face instantly pale.

He had fought ninjas many times—he never imagined they had developed such tactics.

In truth, the ninjas dispatched from Jingcheng did not possess this technique.

But these ninjas, after being sent to Bashu, had suffered injuries during missions.

Liu Zhixiang, newly mastering the Sichuanese secret art of explosive mechanisms, had a sudden idea: he crafted prosthetics for ninjas with minor limb damage.

When enemies killed these ninjas, their ordinary-looking limbs would suddenly explode, catching them off guard.

Zhong Jinqiu had only time to slap Lao Yu’s back when cold dread surged from behind.

The two instantly separated and dodged, turning to face the new threat.

The blinding light had faded; now they faced ninjas unaffected by the talismans.

In fact, even before they charged the disoriented ninjas,

Chu Tianshu had remained in the open space, confronting the other ninjas sneaking in.

A faint glimmer expanded and vanished within Chu Tianshu’s pupils—the Inner-Outer Insight Art activated.

The ninjas moved with barely audible footsteps; their traces on the damp, leaf-littered ground were faint.

With multiple moving targets, discerning their positions by these signs alone was impossible.

Ordinary martial artists could only rely on instinctive danger-sense to gauge their approach.

But in Chu Tianshu’s eyes now, their footprints were not the only trace.

Even their bodies—their camouflage—left subtle differences from true transparent air as they moved.

Like patches of frosted glass gliding through clear water.

Chu Tianshu suddenly lunged diagonally; fallen leaves exploded from the ground.

A sharp crack sounded in his sleeve; in an instant, he and his fist were ten meters away.

One ninja, startled, drew his blade.

His shock and blade-drawing motion were perfectly synchronized.

Ninjas’ techniques rely on mental energy and drugs to unlock hidden physical potential; their study of emotional triggers was profound.

Using sudden surprise to fuel a strike made the blade faster than using anger or killing intent by a third.

His blade’s motion was precise; the narrow, smooth blade generated almost no wind noise in its initial arc.

The enemy could not see the weapon; relying on wind to judge its path would lead to serious miscalculation.

But Chu Tianshu’s fist suddenly flickered—his five fingers did not open, but were flung outward as if shot from his palm.

The palm’s surface expanded violently, then snapped inward; the five fingers formed a duck-bill shape, yet the force was more terrifying than iron tongs.

An invisible katana was pinched between his five fingers, even emitting a sharp “crack.”

In the martial world, catching a blade bare-handed usually means seeking death.

Even a master hitting a young disciple would never casually use this move—he always avoids strength and strikes weakness.

Especially when the opponent is an invisible ninja with an invisible blade.

The ninja never imagined anyone would use this move against him.

In an instant, he didn’t even know whether he was shocked or feeling something else.

The katana had been snapped by that hand and driven into the ninja’s ear, piercing through his skull!

Once dead, the black robe revealed itself.

Chu Tianshu grabbed the ninja’s belt with his left hand, bent his waist then straightened it, flinging the entire body flying toward another “frosted glass” panel.

The ninja curled his body to dodge his companion’s corpse.

But as he curled, he could never straighten again.

Chu Tianshu’s palm struck the top of his head, slamming him down like a bloated, deflated sack of burlap, revealing his true form.

“Kill!!”

Chu Tianshu roared, lunging forward with a wide stance and thrusting out one palm.

Another ninja was charging straight ahead, both hands gripping his blade, thrusting forward.

Chu Tianshu twisted sideways; the blade grazed his chest, while his right hand smashed into the ninja’s face.

The ninja seemed to hear a thunderclap detonating on his face.

Others probably couldn’t hear such a sound.

It was a thunder only he could hear.

Crack!

The black head, struck by immense force, snapped off at the neck and flew backward.

As the head reached the apex of its arc and began tumbling downward, its eyes remained wide open.

Each rotation seemed to show him another ninja struck down, their black forms exposed.

Chu Tianshu’s figure darted into the forest, striking diagonally forward.

His limbs struck at varying heights—sometimes the head, sometimes the chest, sometimes tearing off arms.

Yet every strike carried the full momentum of his body, blending hardness and softness—touch once, and death was certain.

It was not merely a gust of wind, but a storm swirling with stones and sand.

The ninjas heard the closest thunder of their lives.

It rang within their own chests, within their own skulls.

One thunderclap, one encounter.

One life taken!

Ninjas had their own levels of skill, but none were exempt before Chu Tianshu.

With his insight, he saw their movements and instantly knew the force of their strikes and the speed of their dodges.

Had he chosen another technique, the agile, cunning ninjas might have had room to maneuver, delay, or surround him.

That’s why Chu Tianshu used this method.

Like snatching golden beans from molten iron.

“Hey! He’s… ”

Xiao Hu’s face showed surprise; he held his rifle steady, already prepared to provide cover.

But Lao Yu and Zhong Jinqiu only encountered trouble after killing their opponents.

On Chu Tianshu’s side, each time he darted forward, he claimed a life.

Xiao Hu found no chance to fire.

Master Ma suddenly shouted: “Left!”

Xiao Hu’s eyelid twitched; his peripheral vision caught movement, and before he even turned his head, both rifle muzzles flashed fire.

But he saw no person—only a round shield like an iron wok.

Bullets struck the shield and ricocheted off in all directions.

The shield, slowed by the bullet impacts, still slammed into Xiao Hu’s waist and abdomen.

Thud!!

Xiao Hu was flung backward, his two rifles flying from his hands.

(End of Chapter)