Chapter 230: Breaking Free

There are people like that, and Bai Lang is one. He felt no discomfort about being a wilderness scavenger, and he had no particular curiosity about steam technology—since the Adventure Hall that recruits people has all kinds of heavenly gods and buddhas, so the steam world didn't seem that strange to him.

That's probably only possible for transmigrators. Anyway, Bai Lang knows that if it were those bumpkins from the Changle Gang, they'd likely be shocked into babbling and flailing before getting killed. Speaking of the Changle Gang, Bai Lang has also seen those hall reports from the Guardian Commander's Residence; the speed at which this information is compiled is still quite fast.

The Changle Gang wasn't wiped out, although losing the Ye City Branch dealt it a heavy blow; however, the gang leader Gao Yuan personally stepped in to stabilize the situation. He dueled with Liu De, the hall master of the Great River Hall, on the banks of the Great River, narrowly winning with half a move and checking the Great River Hall's further encroachment. But because the Great River Hall possesses this innate expert, Changtian Divine Sword Qian Bu Shao, the Changle Gang ultimately failed to rebuild the Ye City Branch.

As for Bai Lang's former classmate, the guy named Mo Di, and another genius whose name he's forgotten, their whereabouts aren't written in the hall reports—perhaps they're still nobodies, not worth special mention in these records.

"Not yet entered the Innate realm." That's what Bai Lang thought back then. Now Bai Lang wonders what expression his teammates would have if they came in—looking at the cat in front that can talk and do business, their expressions would surely be interesting.

Just thinking about that, Bai Lang suddenly felt a sharp tearing pain in his chest. He covered his chest and smiled at the cat, "Something came up, wait a moment before coming in to buy something." Then he quickly pushed the door open and went out; a voice came from behind, "Ah, the boss must be engorged, that's why it hurts."

Bai Lang decided he would go blow up that cat's head later.

Running to the open space beside the shop, Bai Lang casually sat on the manger, opened his shirt over his chest, and looked down. Where a ghostly head should have appeared, it now fully emerged—not only emerged, but it had risen from the original tattoo into a relief.

This relief was quickly changing into an alien embryo, pushing Bai Lang's skin upward from inside out, as if it were about to burst through his body. "Oh! What's going on?" Bai Lang didn't know whether to press the ghost head back in or simply tear open his chest and dig it out.

"This could be fatal!" Bai Lang cultivated the Southern Dipper White Tiger Fist and the Golden Bell Shield; his tolerance for pain was still strong, so even in such agony he could still think clearly. After spending a few seconds thinking, Bai Lang gritted his teeth and decided: "Better to die standing than live forever on my knees! Let's do it!"

He pinched the ghost head through the skin with his left hand; the ghost head really felt substantial. With his right hand he turned his palm into a blade, the sharp qi of the Southern Dipper White Tiger Fist also gathering in his palm strength—"Ha!" Bai Lang shouted, then gritted his teeth and slashed downward at his own chest with a palm strike.

The sharp force of the White Tiger Fist broke open the spontaneously formed Golden Bell Shield; Bai Lang considered himself to have broken his own Golden Bell Shield, hoping that breaking it would allow renewal. His skin and muscles were split open by the palm strike, but there was no "substance" of the ghost head inside.

Not much blood flowed; Bai Lang's true qi directly sealed the blood vessels of the wound—his body‑refining art had been tempered a thousand times, so pinching shut the severed vessels with muscle was trivial. The opened wound contained no substance, yet Bai Lang saw his own bones. "What on earth is this outward protrusion?"

Bai Lang pressed the wound, quickly left the outpost and ran into the wilderness. He let out a low growl, his whole body shaking as a white tiger phantom appeared. The white tiger raised its head and howled; Bai Lang also smiled—amid the excruciating chest‑breaking pain, he finally found the source.

"Ah, I see! I must use this method to see that thing!" Through the eyes of the white tiger phantom, Bai Lang saw the ghost head in his chest. The ghost head had a big head and small body; its skull was already exposed from the wound, but its claw‑like body still clung tightly to Bai Lang's own sternum and viscera.

This time Bai Lang reached into the wound with his right hand; the right claw, sheathed in the white tiger's claw, grabbed a ghost head from the void. The ghost head gradually became visible to the naked eye. Bai Lang uttered a painful roar, and the right claw exerted force, steadily pulling the ghost head out bit by bit.

This thing was entangled with Bai Lang's soul, and connected to his meridians and divine sea; this operation was no different from Bai Lang having his soul sliced thousands of times. Sweat the size of beans poured from his forehead, his whole body turned pale, his sense of presence flickering like a candle in the wind—as if he might vanish at any moment.

But the ghost head was gradually pulled out; Bai Lang's hand remained steady and never stopped. The ground within several feet was soaked with his sweat, and his internal force circulation, disturbed by the tugging of the ghost head, became intermittent. Bai Lang, to focus on the force of his right hand, released the seal on the wound, so blood kept flowing out, forming a blood pool on the ground as well.

His arm slowly extended; Bai Lang's left hand also grabbed the midsection of the ghost head's snake‑like body that had been pulled out. His right hand suddenly flipped, seized the ghost head and wouldn't let go while the ghost head's body coiled around his right arm; with a tiger's roar he exerted a sudden pull— the latter half of the ghost head was ripped out with a "slik" sound.

Bai Lang nearly passed out, but after forcing himself to endure he exerted strength to crush the ghost head, and only then did he exhale with an "oh". This maneuver inflicted great harm on Bai Lang's soul; what he didn't see was that after the ghost head re‑formed in midair, it turned into drifting fragments that vanished without a trace.

Bai Lang remained unconscious for a while; several vultures and coyote‑like beasts that specialize in eating carrion in the wilderness were drawn by the smell of blood to his side. No matter how they tried, they couldn't bite through his flesh—as long as he had a breath, the Golden Bell Shield could be reforged; to cripple his cultivation one would have to break its shield gate.

All those carrion‑eating creatures could do was tear Bai Lang's blood‑stained clothes to shreds and eat them to slightly fill their stomachs. After eating Bai Lang's blood‑soaked garments, these beasts soon underwent a mutation.

When Bai Lang woke up, he saw only that the ground around him was a mess; his clothes were completely torn to rags, basically exposing his springtime skin, and even his leather boots had been shredded—apparently only his hat remained intact.

Bai Lang gave a wry smile, grabbed his hat to shield himself, and deployed Lightness Skill to sprint toward the outpost. Amid the jeering of the two drunkard gatekeepers, he charged into the equipment shop—Bai Lang didn't mind if people saw his bird; being seen from behind with his butt exposed was fine.

That fellow really had a fine physique; with his long strides he charged in, whistles followed him nonstop, and Bai Lang's face didn't even redden—"What are you looking at! Haven't you seen a man's butt?!"

Those women all shouted, "Quick quick quick, toss the hat away! Hahahaha!"