Chapter 98: Sword Cuts Evil Ghost, Siblings Reunited

The mountain wind howled like ghostly wails, and with the terrifying appearance of the Ten Thousand Ghosts Old Mother, it felt more like hell than even Avici Hell.

“Eliminate them all?”

Jiang Lin held a three-foot blue blade.

“This stupid old hag, she trained so long in a demonic god’s art she’s lost her mind.”

Cut the grass but leave the roots, and you’ve killed for nothing.

“I stole the spirit guide and killed this hag—will the Ghost Ming Sect come to ambush or assassinate me?”

“Will they hire assassins for a fortune to kill me?”

“Poison? Hidden weapons?”

“Or kidnap Jiang Yan to threaten me?”

“Too many.”

Then they might as well die—I want total annihilation.

The next instant.

The long sword in Jiang Lin’s hand flew from his grip, shattering inch by inch into seven pieces.

As if performing a magic trick.

In an instant, seven tiny swords, each the length of a thumb, circled his body, brimming with lethal intent.

The Ten Thousand Ghosts Old Mother’s pupils shrank sharply at the sight of the seven tiny swords.

She couldn’t believe it:

“You actually mastered it?”

“Seven-Form Sword Qi!”

Jiang Lin smiled faintly: “Congratulations. You’re right.”

“Huff, huff.”

The trees ahead blurred past at high speed.

“Shit, shit!”

Gongyang Han’s pale face turned even paler.

Before, it was from excess indulgence; now, it was from excessive blood loss.

He clutched his lower abdomen.

A gaping, bloody wound pierced clean through—through the hole, even fragments of his internal organs were visible.

It’s over.

Everything is over.

The Ten Thousand Ghosts Old Mother is truly dead now.

Her demonic god art allowed her to regenerate flesh and bone—but only once. That chance has been utterly erased by Jiang Lin.

The Ghost Ming Sect has become a homeless dog.

“Jiang Lin!”

Gongyang Han’s eyes burned red with hatred, resentment, and fear.

Jiang Lin used only one sword.

No—he used seven swords.

The Ten Thousand Ghosts Old Mother was pierced like a sieve, and those seven strange swords swept across the battlefield, slaughtering countless experts of the Ghost Ming Sect.

His horrific abdominal wound was caused by one of the tiny swords.

A stroke of luck—and a stroke of misfortune.

Jiang Lin’s target wasn’t him, but his senior brother, the Headless Slave; he was merely collateral.

The tiny swords killed the Headless Slave, and only by chance pierced Gongyang Han as they passed through his senior brother.

The Ghost Ming Sect is finished.

At least in Qinghe County.

Gongyang Han now only wants to escape this hellish place.

Suddenly!

Whoosh!

A featherless short arrow shot out from the darkness beside him, impossible to anticipate.

Plop.

The arrow struck precisely between Gongyang Han’s thigh.

“Who?!”

Gongyang Han flew into a rage, glancing at the arrow in his leg.

It was a crossbow!

In ancient times, crossbows were far more powerful than bows, because their faster rate of fire meant they often didn’t need tail feathers.

But why did this short arrow look so familiar?

The next instant, a powerful gust of wind struck.

“It’s you!”

Gongyang Han’s eyes bulged, his teeth grinding with fury.

“You killed Su Xuan!”

Li Rui didn’t answer—he swung his blade down in a brutal overhead strike toward Gongyang Han’s vital point, the air whistling faintly.

“I, shit—”

Gongyang Han raised his spear with both hands to block.

His title was Green Snake Spear—he used a spear, of course. Its shaft was forged from special wood, soaked in demonic beast blood for forty-nine days, impervious to blades and immune to fire and water.

The moment blade met spear.

Gongyang Han felt his arm go numb; the spear trembled like a snake.

He nearly lost his grip.

Just one strike—and his palms split open.

A dying camel is still bigger than a horse. Though gravely wounded, his strength remained. He forced a breath, barely parrying the blade.

His bloodshot eyes licked his lips:

“You killed Su Xuan. You took the artifact. It’s you!”

He cursed himself for being an idiot.

He had always assumed Tang Sheng killed Su Xuan; Li Rui had never even been on his target list.

Now he saw—this old man had long since broken through the Eighth Rank.

Hiding his strength, pretending to be weak!

He and his senior brother, the Headless Slave, had already returned their divine treasures to the Ten Thousand Ghosts Old Mother. Only Su Xuan’s piece remained—and nine times out of ten, it was on this old man.

“Damn it.”

The weapon’s vibration worsened his internal injuries; Gongyang Han spat out a mouthful of blood.

In the darkness, Li Rui pushed off with his feet, twisted his waist, and swung his blade again as if to strike.

Gongyang Han swallowed the rising metallic taste, gripped his spear with both hands, braced his waist, and shook his arms—his silver spear shot forward like a venomous snake’s tongue. That’s how he earned his title, Green Snake Spear.

The spear tip darted up and down, its path impossible to predict, leaving no defense.

Li Rui held his blade with one hand.

At just eight chi from Gongyang Han, his left hand subtly pushed against his waist.

Whoosh!

An invisible force struck squarely at Gongyang Han’s waist. His abdomen, already pierced by Jiang Lin’s tiny swords, was now severed top to bottom, torn open into a massive wound.

“Sword qi?”

Gongyang Han stared at Li Rui in disbelief.

“Fuck your mother—”

A wave of weakness surged through him. His body, carried by momentum, toppled forward, face slamming into the ground.

This kind of death is commonly called “faceplant.”

“Su Xuan, now you can see her. At least, fellow disciples are reunited.”

Li Rui crouched down.

His movements were swift.

In mere breaths, he patted every spot on Gongyang Han’s body that glowed with golden light.

The right pocket, a hidden spot no one would notice, had been deliberately prepared for Gongyang Han.

When he learned this mission was to crush the Ghost Ming Sect,

Li Rui had already devised his plan.

He didn’t care about the others—Gongyang Han must die!

So during the chaos, he’d been silently searching for Gongyang Han’s figure. He’d studied the wanted poster countless times; it was etched into his mind. Even if Gongyang Han turned to ash, he wouldn’t recognize him—but if Gongyang Han was present, he’d know him instantly.

When Gongyang Han fled in the confusion, Li Rui pursued him without hesitation.

After finishing all this, he smashed Gongyang Han’s wounds further with his blade, erasing any trace of sword qi.

Someone might ask.

Why use blade qi before even drawing your weapon?

Launch your strongest move right away, get dodged, and aren’t you just an idiot? Save your ultimate for last—that’s the conclusion drawn from countless ancestors’ blood.

After a stick of incense burned out.

A sound of footsteps came from nearby.

“Li Da.”

Zhang Yang arrived and saw Li Rui; he opened his mouth to speak, then noticed the body of Gongyang Han beneath Li Rui’s feet.

He had come leading men to hunt down Gongyang Han.

Li Rui explained: “Gongyang Han was too badly wounded; when I caught up to him, he had little strength left. This demon has already been slain by me.”

Zhang Yang stared at the wound on Gongyang Han’s abdomen—his intestines had been crushed into pulp.

He was certain it could not have been caused by a small sword.

If he had been injured like that from the start, Gongyang Han could never have run—he would have died on the spot.

Li Rui added:

“I feared he might not die, so I cut him a few more times.”

Zhang Yang’s lips twitched.

It sounded reasonable.

He made up his mind.

Even if he had to die someday, he would not let Li Rui be the one to kill him.

(End of Chapter)