Chapter 300: First Clash

The assassin's posture still hunched as before, but now a bone-deep killing intent finally emerged in his brows; the glint of steel in his hand extended barely half an inch beyond his fingertips—most people would not even notice he held a weapon.

His movements, twisted and unnatural beyond human joint limits, struck precisely at the blind spots of human motion; the explosive force within such confined space was terrifyingly swift. Though Feng Xue reacted quickly, he could not avoid a shallow cut from the dagger—no longer than his little finger.

Feng Xue was about to counterattack when suddenly his head spun—he lost control of his body and began to collapse. Seeing this, the assassin's corpse-like face betrayed a flicker of triumph. He reached out, hooked Feng Xue over his shoulder, and turned to dash out of the clinic.

Amid the patients' screams, the assassin unleashed everything he had learned, becoming a mere shadow that slipped through the dim twilight, twisting and darting into an alley.

The labyrinthine terrain of Chicken Cage Village was a maze to newcomers, but for those familiar with it, every corner held a shortcut. The assassin sprinted with Feng Xue slung over his shoulder, and within minutes, arrived at a safehouse.

"Master… Master… Master…"

Suddenly, the assassin froze—as if about to retrieve something—then began spinning in place like ants without a leader. At that moment, a sigh unexpectedly filled the room, a place that should have held no one else—

"Sigh… your illusion technique still needs work!"

The entire world shattered like a mirror struck hard. The assassin's composure collapsed completely. The safehouse remained the same, but the target on his shoulder had become a bench. Seeing the target standing three meters away, his mind reeled with dizziness. Feng Xue narrowed his eyes—and an invisible lock quietly snapped shut.

"Catch him!" Mo Ying chirped happily. Feng Xue rolled his eyes and said:

"Catch him? If you could just make your illusion better, we'd have tracked him straight to his base, wouldn't we?"

"Real-time illusion calculation is hard, okay? I have to read his mind, set up the environment, match his memories as closely as possible, and constantly make micro-adjustments—plus his mental stability is incredible…" Mo Ying immediately complained, but Feng Xue said nothing.

Though the illusion failed to lure, at the instant the illusion dissolved, the opponent's spirit inevitably revealed a vulnerability—allowing Ghost's Confusion to activate successfully. Now that Ding Tian Ming was locked, the outcome was no longer in doubt.

"Name?"

"Nakajima Daisuke."

"A little Jap?" Feng Xue raised an eyebrow, understanding dawning—he was clearly the "inconsequential" minor player the great demon had mentioned earlier.

"Occupation?"

"Ninja."

"?" Feng Xue paused, startled by the familiar term. Curious, he asked:

"Which ninja village? Do you have a bloodline limit? What ninja techniques do you know?"

"I am a ninja raised by the Jiujuyi Sect. I don't know what a bloodline limit is. The techniques I know are Rope Escape, Weapon Concealment, Disguise…"

"Tch… a realism-type ninja? Still, fooling the Qi-Seeing Art is impressive. But Jiujuyi Sect… why does that sound familiar?"

Feng Xue shook his head. Better to ask directly than waste time speculating—

"Why did you kidnap me?"

"I don't know. I was only ordered to capture you alive. Nothing else."

"That's awfully cautious…" Feng Xue shook his head and continued:

"Who is your master?"

"…"

The ninja did not answer. Feng Xue frowned, thinking he didn't know, and asked again:

"Where was the handoff point? How did you make contact?"

"…"

Still no response. Had it not been for Ghost's Confusion still locked on his head, Feng Xue might have suspected the spell had failed.

"One-way communication? A cautious man. But since I know the sect's lineage, I can just inquire later."

Feng Xue pondered, considering how to handle this ninja.

Killing him outright would be meaningless—a mere tool, useful only for venting anger. Better to hand him over to the great demon later; perhaps he could still serve some other purpose.

Thinking this, Feng Xue turned to return to the clinic. But as soon as he turned, the previously still ninja suddenly stiffened.

Feng Xue, whose battle mode kept his over-the-shoulder perspective active, instantly sensed something wrong. His body lunged forward—while the warning glow from the little bell arrived belatedly.

No, it wasn't late—because the ninja's movements were now unnaturally stiff, nowhere near the explosive speed he'd shown in the clinic. Feng Xue didn't even need to defend himself—only needed to say:

"Stop!"

The already stiff ninja froze completely, like a living wax statue. Yet the image projected by the little bell inside his mind continued to shift rapidly.

"Ding Tian Ming should be solid—targets under its lock shouldn't be able to defy my orders. So this change must come from external influence?"

Watching the muscles bulge violently against his will, the old man's frail exterior now looked as if he were about to explode into a steroid-fueled beast.

"Boom!"

Suddenly, with a sound impossible to describe, blood sprayed from ruptured vessels, tendons snapped—but the ninja, whose body should have been dead, launched an attack anyway.

"This must be some kind of puppet technique," Feng Xue thought, seeing the ninja's lifespan icon vanish—he understood the man was truly dead. He immediately asked:

"Is there any method to use spellcraft to directly lock onto the original body?"

"No way," said the little bell. "This isn't real-time control. There's no Qi interaction to latch onto." Feng Xue said no more, raised two fingers like a sword, and instantly summoned his mental energy. It flowed through the Talisman and Spell he carried, transforming into a crimson sword crackling with Lei Guang.

With a wrist flick, he unleashed the sword technique learned from gamers—the spell players nicknamed "Thunderfire Sword." It carved a blazing trail of crimson and blue through the air, spinning once—then the ninja's head fell to the ground.

Yet the corpse did not collapse. It still stretched out its dripping hands, stiffly continuing its attack.

Feng Xue flicked a finger—the Thunderfire Sword pivoted instantly. Light flowed, severing arms and legs from the torso.

But Feng Xue did not destroy the body. He dismissed his technique, pinched a spell seal, and sent a thunder-mark soaring into the air—

"I was ambushed here by a Japanese ninja. New to this land, unsure how to handle the aftermath."

He infused enough energy to sustain the mark for fifteen minutes, nodded approvingly at his calligraphy, when Mo Ying murmured beside him:

"Anyone can copy from a calligraphy template."

(End of Chapter)