Chapter 65: Let Those Two Off Easy

“Giggling… giggling… giggling…”

The wooden phantom surveyed the ravine, spotted Xia Hong’s animal-skin coat lying still at the bottom, surrounded by bloodstains—its laughter grew darker, more rampant, even tinged with glee.

Huh…

It even bent down with interest to blow a breath toward the ravine; the air current became a gentle wind, lifting the animal-skin coat to reveal the corpse beneath.

But with that single breath, its expression changed instantly.

Beneath the animal-skin coat, there was nothing but empty space—only a patch of blood.

Where was Xia Hong’s corpse?

The wooden phantom’s face twisted in shock; it whirled its head to stare at the great sword slung over its right shoulder, its crimson pupils contracting sharply.

That last slash had been too heavy, kicking up a great deal of dirt; the wooden phantom hadn’t cared—never imagining Xia Hong had dodged the blow, hidden beneath the soil, clinging to the blade, and been carried up with it.

Boom…

Xia Hong, still gripping the blade’s edge, erupted from a clump of dirt like a cannonball launched from its barrel, hurtling forward along the sword’s length.

The great sword had been slung backward over the wooden phantom’s shoulder; in an instant, Xia Hong reached its right shoulder, raised the blade, and aimed it straight at the phantom’s skull.

This sudden reversal stunned the wooden phantom—and froze every other person present.

Xia Hong had dodged that blow.

But if he’d dodged it, why pretend to be dead?

And why cling to the blade, crawling toward the wooden phantom’s head?

The wooden phantom seemed to realize something—its contracted crimson pupils suddenly flooded with terror; it twisted its head wildly, swinging its great sword, trying to shake Xia Hong off its shoulder.

But the distance between them was now far too close—far too close!

As Xia Hong raised the blade to strike, he hurled a fist-sized lump of black ink-block forward; his face twisted into a snarl, and he brought the blade down.

Splat…

Xia Hong’s blow, fueled by every ounce of his strength, drove the blade and the ink-block together into the wooden phantom’s right temple—nearly burying the entire blade, leaving only the hilt exposed.

The moment the wooden phantom saw the black ink-block, its terror replaced all other emotion.

And when Xia Hong drove the blade and ink-block into its right temple, the ink-block erupted into countless streams of black fire-oil, soaking into its skull.

The white threads inside the wound ignited instantly upon contact with the fire-oil.

And the ink-block released far too much fire-oil—splattered by Xia Hong’s strike, it coated nearly the entire head.

Hiss…

Even the skin touched by a trace of fire-oil began to spew thick black smoke; within the skull, where most of the fire-oil had seeped, flames erupted violently, spreading instantly.

The wooden phantom’s entire head blazed with roaring fire, from within to without.

“Ahh… ah… ah…”

The searing pain inside its skull sent a piercing scream tearing from its throat.

“You little brat—you tricked me… you tricked me… ah… ah…”

Its legs, still crippled by the torch wound, couldn’t move—but the agony in its head drove it into violent, shrieking convulsions; the great sword slashed wildly at the ground, targeting Xia Hong, who had already been flung far away.

Boom… boom… boom…

It rained down furious slashes upon Xia Hong; each strike shook the valley floor, while its mouth spewed endless, venomous howls:

“Tricked me… you little brat, how dare you trick me… ah…”

The great sword, over ten meters long, carved air-waves that plowed the entire valley floor; though its target was only Xia Hong, everyone else—Yang Ning, Li Hu, Luo Ming and his three companions, even Yue Feng and Yuan Cheng far off—scattered in frantic flight.

If the others were this terrified, what of Xia Hong, the actual target?

Xia Hong staggered wildly, dodging left and right; though he dared not look back, he sensed the force of the phantom’s blows weakening—and a cold smirk curled on his pale face.

Others might not understand the phantom’s frenzy—but he did.

The phantom was screaming about Fire-Oil.

From the moment they entered the ravine, Xia Hong had realized their every move was likely under the phantom’s watch.

So he hadn’t drawn his Fire-Oil immediately; instead, he followed Luo Ming and the other two into the wooden hut.

What happened inside the hut confirmed his suspicion: the phantom had mixed fake puppets among real men, deliberately forcing him to waste his Fire-Oil.

This only proved the phantom feared Fire-Oil deeply.

At that moment, Xia Hong deliberately concealed the truth—he’d brought four Fire-Oil blocks total; he’d given one to Xia Chuan, kept three for himself—but told Luo Ming he had only two.

In truth, he’d said it for the wooden phantom to hear.

When the giant wooden puppet had consumed those two blocks outside, the phantom appeared—and Xia Hong knew his lie had already taken effect.

The fact that the phantom had held its own against all seven of them proved it had deliberately tangled with Yang Ning and Li Hu on the mountaintop—it wasn’t afraid of them; it was afraid of Fire-Oil.

But the wooden phantom was undeniably overly cautious.

Even now that it had revealed itself, it couldn’t be certain Xia Hong carried no Fire-Oil.

So when surrounded and cornered by the seven, it chose to break out through Luo Ming and Li Hu’s group—not Xia Hong’s.

But that only confirmed Xia Hong’s earlier suspicions.

The torch had been his final test.

When he neared the phantom’s leg, he still didn’t draw Fire-Oil—he knew the phantom could detach any body part, so he used the torch, precisely to lull it into complacency.

Everything Xia Hong did was meant to deceive the phantom, to gain the chance to reach its head.

The phantom controlled other puppets through those translucent white threads—and in every puppet they’d fought, including the giant one, the threads were thickest at the head; Luo Ming had destroyed the giant puppet only after driving Fire-Oil into its skull.

So the head must be this wooden phantom’s weak point.

“Ahh… ah…”

As the flames on its head burned fiercer, the phantom’s screams grew louder; its sword swings toward Xia Hong grew erratic, then stalled.

Xia Hong, who had been fleeing desperately, finally caught his breath.

Watching the phantom’s twisted, writhing form, he glanced back at the massive wound on his shoulder—nearly exposing bone—and still felt a shiver of dread.

Dodging that blow hadn’t been simple.

He’d fully avoided the black blade—but the shockwave from its descent still struck him.

Had that shockwave moved an inch closer to his neck, he’d be dead.

Just as everyone assumed the flames would finish the wooden phantom off, Yang Ning moved.

A flash of excitement lit his eyes; he shouted to Li Hu.

“Huizi, come with me—kill it!”

Li Hu, equally excited, followed him straight toward the blazing wooden phantom.

Seeing their move, Luo Ming’s gaze flickered—but he said nothing.

Xia Hong’s face showed a flicker of interest too—but he touched his shoulder wound, glanced at Yuan Cheng, Yue Feng, and the other five beside him, hesitated, then stayed still.

“Let those two off easy.”

(End of Chapter)