Chapter 439: Death and the Target

Old Ed's wrinkled eye corners twitched.

This is the man who rescued Miss Wen Na Miss Puwei.

This pressure, like a great dragon

And his clothes were tattered, dust-covered, and the spiritual energy surging through his body had not yet fully settled — clearly he had just been through a great battle.

To have fought a master like that, here in Axehead Shoal, it was probably only the Eighth-Tier captain of the Count's Gubao private regiment who could manage it.

Fought an Eighth-Tier master, and aside from looking a little roughed up, barely took a scratch?

What kind of monster is this?

He immediately recalled the half-deer's warning to him.

"If you meet this man, run at once."

But he glanced at Miss Wen Na Miss Puwei, right there within arm's reach, and the cold face that had settled down was still nothing but stern and rigid.

Without a word, Old Ed slowly laid his hand on the hilt of the steel sword at his waist that had accompanied him for many years.

Just as he had, decades ago, when he faced a lizardman army all alone.

His aura climbed steadily, all of it gathering strength for the instant of the draw.

Rod saw that this was the spiritual-energy circulation pattern of 【Aetheron's Flash】, and judging by its flow, it had probably reached the level of 【Nine Flashes】.

He suddenly found it interesting.

This sword technique of his had already reached the level of 【Twelve Flashes】 — that owed something to his bitter cultivation, but more to the innate talent of his spirit seed.

Reaching 【Nine Flashes】 at Seventh Tier — by ordinary standards, that was absolutely rare.

"Got guts. Good thing I respect my elders and love the young."

A small blob of black slime popped out from the inner cuff of his wrist, transformed midair into a cross-shaped longsword, and he caught it in a fluid motion.

"【Nine Flashes】."

Old Ed's eyes sharpened — he saw the other meant to meet him with the same sword art.

To clash with this sword art he had steeped himself in for over thirty years, and never once lost with.

Long time no see.

A faint ripple of meeting one's match stirred in his heart.

The air went still for half a second.

The next moment.

The longswords in both men's hands vanished in an instant.

No overflowing sword qi, no fierce, overwhelming force.

Silver and black sword-light interlocked, carrying razor-precise spiritual edge, each completing nine slashes in a single instant!

Crack!

Old Ed blasted backward, his whole body slamming into the wall behind him.

Five sword wounds deep enough to show bone appeared on his shoulder, abdomen, and thigh! Blood gushed out!

The steel sword — his old companion — snapped in the middle, the cut terrifyingly clean.

He slumped down wearily, his gaze still coldly fixed on Rod.

Rod, on the other hand, looked surprised.

He looked down — six intersecting sword wounds on his chest, all converging on a single point, like a blood-flower in full bloom.

The wounds were shallow.

One could say they had only just broken the skin.

But they had undeniably pierced through the defense of 【Dragon Scale Art】.

"Not bad."

This was a spiritual warrior of the Iron-Severing school.

A Seventh-Tier school whose practitioners bond body and soul with their weapon — they abandon defense, abandon spells and spiritual power, and instead find the path of the blade from within the heart.

Old Ed was clearly a standout among them.

Who would have thought, who would have thought.

【Dragon Scale Art】 had held against an Eighth-Tier big brother, yet here it had stumbled against a mid-Seventh-Tier old man.

This is the Sword Bay region for you — every corner has its talents.

"Little Rod's hurt~~ Saliva kills germs, you know! Aunty will lick it for you~~"

Tally pounced over, delighted, sticking her tongue out and licking this way and that.

"Ehehehe. Master's sweat smell. Hehe, and the taste of fresh blood after so long, hehehehe—"

As she licked, she started cackling like a pervert.

Seeing it was starting to damage his image as a master, Rod shoved her aside.

He glanced at old man Ed, who was bleeding from all over.

The old man's eyes were beginning to turn grey, but he still stared fixedly at his opponent — under such massive blood loss, his life was rapidly fading.

"Decent swordsmanship."

Rod saw he was about to die, so he didn't finish him off.

He gave the bound-up Miss Wen Na a knock on the head, then slung her over his shoulder.

"Mm! Mmph."

Tally stuck out her tongue at the old man who had wounded her master.

Then, grinning happily, she wrapped her soft, pillowy chest around Rod's arm, and together they sank into the shadows.

Gone without a trace.

The next moment.

In the silent alley.

All that remained was old man Ed's helpless and Cu Zhong panting.

Like someone manually dragging a volume slider, it grew quieter and quieter.

Before long.

Clop clop clop clop—

Suddenly, the footsteps of hard hooves trotted closer.

"Sigh—"

The half-deer person of 【Hero Giver】 appeared at the entrance of the alley, and upon seeing the listless old Ed who already looked like a dead man, couldn't help but sigh.

The half-deer person walked closer and examined him for a moment, detecting that familiar and powerful lingering spirituality.

"What did I tell you, why bother? I told you to run when you met that monster, but you wouldn't listen—now you're dead, aren't you?"

No one responded.

Or rather, no one could respond.

Old Ed hung his head powerlessly, fresh blood trickling down from his mouth.

The half-deer person walked to his side, intending to kick away the broken sword in his hand.

It wouldn't budge—the hilt was as if embedded in his palm.

"I can save you, but you have to become my 【Hero Candidate】, and then help me go kill that halfling in the Deepwater City League of Heroes—seems her name is... Lily? I forgot. She was originally a candidate on my target list, but unfortunately, someone beat me to her. So I can only kill her, I suppose."

"Ah well, can't be helped. The road to godhood is overcrowded—got to slaughter a few to make room for me."

"Hey hey, don't just let me talk—you say a few words back to me too."

"... Oh, you seem like you're about to die. Whatever, I'll take it as you've already agreed!"

Earl Gubao, a musty-smelling wine cellar basement.

"Cough cough!"

The half-elf Virgil suddenly let out a violent cough, a small puddle of plague-laced green blood spraying out.

It splashed onto the wall, sizzling and spreading out a yellow-green toxic mist.

He let out a long breath, curled up on a stool.

Compared to his massive frame covered in corrosive wounds, that stool was almost absurdly cute.

Bang!

Bang bang!

Another several thick sutures snapped.

White pus immediately leaked out from the gaps, emitting a rotting stench.

"Lord Virgil, you called for me?"

A man wearing the uniform of a private militia walked down the handrail into the basement, calling out respectfully and fearfully in a low voice.

The half of Lord Virgil's body that was turned away, like a terrifying giant beast, was blocked by shadow; the lamplight shone faintly on that expanse of pus-oozing muscle—very frightening.

"Mm."

Virgil panted as he spoke, his voice grown thick and muffled, very different from before.

"Tell the White Dragon Tomb side to spare no cost and break open the tomb quickly."

"Lord Virgil, but that group of naga is clamoring that they want the balance paid off before they'll work."

"Don't bother with paying it off or not—the most important thing right now is the White Dragon Tomb."

The man hesitated for a moment: "Lord, what exactly is the purpose of the White Dragon Tomb? Is this the goal of our Zhentarim, or your personal goal?"

(End of chapter)