Chapter 118: How Could He Believe Feng Mu's Ghost Stories

Drip, drip...

Thick, foul black juice dripped drop by drop beside Hei Hei 2's feet, pooling into a muddy mess.

His shoulder and half his ribcage looked as if seared by a red-hot branding iron, torn open into a huge gash.

Flesh and muscle had vanished, several side ribs were broken and scraped away, exposing the still wildly beating, bloodstained heart within, coated with some disgusting rotten juice.

Feng Mu drew a sharp breath, recalling his first meeting with Senior Brother; perhaps back then he had been but a step away from turning into mud on the spot.

As a comrade, Feng Mu felt his scalp go numb, but after the lingering fear came an overwhelming sense of security.

His eyesight could not yet judge what level of Martial Artist Senior Brother was, but it was obvious that Senior Brother was ferocious beyond measure.

【Black Face】, once greatly feared by Feng Mu, could not last a single round against Senior Brother before turning into mud.

"【The Ghost-Cultivating Sect】 is worth joining; I've gained a high-level account to take me into instances to grind levels, uh... maybe more than one." Feng Mu was delighted in his heart.

Most importantly, 【The Ghost-Cultivating Sect】 was especially fond of 【team building】 activities, and none of them were picky; even going into "low-level instances" with him, they were all eager and ready at a moment's notice.

By now, Feng Mu had been worrying about which prison to go to next, but there was nothing left to hesitate over.

Senior Brother's thick thighs certainly had to be used; as for Tactical Squad 087... uh, he could find a way to get them transferred to a prison to meet up with him.

"In that case, isn't that the best of both worlds!" Feng Mu slacked off the whole time, feeling wonderful inside, even able to slip away midway to plan his next move.

The Receiver could only feel his scalp go numb and his heart and gallbladder shatter.

The Receiver's throat went dry, his eyeballs nearly bulging out of his disfigured face, as he screamed in his heart: "Killing intent revealed, spirit confused and body disturbed—in the Old Martial Arts era, this meant power and momentum were complete, blood and spirit merged, it was Refining Marrow."

"By New Martial Arts standards, he'd have to be at least a seventh-grade expert, right?"

"Why would such a figure exist in some backwater of Lower City Ninth District?"

The Receiver felt confused; his feeling now was like playing a game, stepping out into a low-level newbie zone only to run into a boss from a late-game map, with an urge to curse.

The real world naturally had no game-like level zone divisions, yet under the influence of complex real-world factors, the great powers often checked and balanced each other, following similar unspoken rules.

Like placing pieces on a chessboard, the closer to the center, the more precious the pieces became, while the corners and edges were often ignored.

After all, seventh-grade experts, no matter which power they belonged to, absolutely belonged to that tiny top-tier group, being extremely scarce combat resources.

Taking the E Corpse Sect as an example, a seventh-grade expert was already a Dharma Protector within the sect, usually staying secluded inside, rarely emerging; even if they occasionally acted, they would only appear in "high-level maps" with many resources but high danger.

Such as near Shang Cheng Zhong Xin Cheng in Upper City, or certain dangerous Hidden Gates.

Ninth District, as the lowest-ranked district of Lower City, was such a poor and remote place with almost no profit to be had; whose family was addled enough to send such combat power here to waste?

The Receiver pondered in secret, unable to help feeling a pang of alarm, and was horrified to think:

"Fighting over the Black Core surely isn't as simple as 【Mask】's personal action; Puppet Mother has even sent her top underlings—Puppet Mother is taking an unusual path, preparing to pull off something big for the E Corpse Sect."

The Receiver felt despair in his heart; he admitted that what he had written in the email, though every word was true, had inevitably been embellished—not quite alarmist, but exaggerated.

Who let it be that the survival rule of the workplace was just like this; the E Corpse Sect could not be exempt either.

After all, when subordinates reported work to the "boss," if they didn't appropriately exaggerate the difficulties encountered and challenges ahead, how could they highlight their hard work and outstanding contributions, and thus make reasonable requests of the boss?

However, the current situation forced the Receiver to re-examine his judgment.

"In my email, I underestimated the severity of the situation. The reality may far exceed my expectations. It seems the sect's reinforcements have not arrived, but today I am going to die here."

"No, the sect's help was never coming anyway; I haven't even had a chance to send the email yet."

The Receiver's disfigured face shifted unpredictably, and a flash of viciousness suddenly appeared in his eyes.

The next moment, he stepped, twisted his foot, slid sideways, and with a slither appeared behind Hei Hei 2.

Raising his hand, five fingers pressed together like a knife, following Li Bashan's split chest and ribs, he ruthlessly stabbed toward Hei Hei 2's heart; the whole movement was done in one breath, so fast that Hei Hei 2's brain couldn't even react to what his companion was doing.

While ruthlessly striking, the Receiver shouted urgently: "I've turned from dark to light, what you just said..."

Before his words landed, just as the Receiver's fingertips touched the beating heart, he felt a warm liquid splash across his cheeks.

His breath suddenly caught; a foreign object suddenly fell into his open mouth, lodging in his throat and forcibly stuffing the rest of his words back down his throat.

"Trying to steal the kill?"

At the critical moment, Li Bashan moved first and crushed Hei Hei 2's head in one grab.

With a tooth-grating shattering sound, Hei Hei 2's skull, as if squeezed by terrifying force, burst apart like fragile tofu.

Fresh blood and brain matter splattered, dyeing the Evil Tiger Mask red, making it look even more fierce and terrifying.

Li Bashan glared viciously at the Receiver, his gaze as if he wanted to devour someone.

The Receiver hurriedly retreated two steps, nervously coughing up a bloodstained eyeball with bits of flesh stuck to it from his mouth.

Under the Goat Mask, Feng Mu gently covered his cheek, silently sighing in his heart: "Senior Brother is perfect in every way, except when it comes to food, he really is too possessive."

He let out a long sigh, and to the Receiver digging an eyeball out of his throat, he said apologetically: "It's not that I don't want to spare your life; I gave you the chance, you're just useless."

The Receiver silently wiped the blood off the eyeball with his sleeve, lowered his head to meet the stark white eyeball, not knowing whether that eyeball was mocking him for having eyes but no pearls, or mocking him for having eyes but no pearls.

"Hey—"

The Receiver laughed angrily to the extreme, flicked his finger, flicked the eyeball back into his mouth, and crunched and swallowed it down into his stomach.

"I've always laughed at him for being stupid, never expecting that in the end, I'm even stupider than him, to actually believe Feng Mu's ghost stories."

Feng Mu scratched the goat's cheek, speaking in a calm and understanding tone: "Don't blame yourself; human nature is always greedy for life, and cultists are no exception; it's understandable."

The Receiver gritted his teeth, shook his head, spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm, and said fiercely: "No, I'm not talking about that; I mean, you and all of you are not Puppet Mother's underlings!!!"

End of Chapter