Chapter 325: First Clash

The assassin’s figure still hunched as before, but now a bone-deep killing intent finally surfaced 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, exceeding human joint limits, striking precisely at the blind spots of human motion; the explosive force within such a tiny space was terrifyingly swift. Though Feng Xue reacted quickly, he could not avoid a shallow cut from the dagger—no longer than a pinky 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 his lifetime’s training, becoming a shadow that slipped through the dim twilight, weaving through alleyways with sharp turns.

The labyrinthine terrain of Chickens’ Nest Village was a maze to newcomers, but to those who knew it, every corner held a shortcut. Carrying Feng Xue, the assassin sprinted on, and within minutes, he reached 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 echoed in 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. Feng Xue narrowed his eyes—and an invisible lock clicked shut.

“Catch him!” Yin Bao chirped happily. Feng Xue rolled his eyes.

“Catch him? If you could just make your illusion better, we’d have located his base already.”

“Real-time illusion calculation is hard! I have to read his mind, set up the environment, match his memories as closely as possible, and constantly fine-tune it—all while his mental stability is rock-solid…” Ink Yin immediately complained, but Feng Xue said nothing.

Though the illusion had failed to fully deceive, the instant it dissolved, the opponent’s spirit had inevitably opened a gap—allowing Ghost’s Confusion to activate successfully. Now that [Ding Tian Ming] was locked in, the outcome was no longer in doubt.

“Name?”

“Nakajima Daisuke.”

“A Japanese?” Feng Xue raised an eyebrow, understanding dawning—he must be 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 jutsu do you know?”

“I am a ninja bred by the Kukyu Sect. I don’t know what a bloodline limit is. My known jutsu include Rope Escape, Weapon Concealment, and Disguise…”

“Tch… a realism-style ninja? Still, fooling the Qi-Viewing Art is impressive. But Kukyu Sect… why does that sound familiar?”

Feng Xue shook his head. Better to ask directly than speculate.

“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 pressed on:

“Who is your master?”

“…”

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

“Where was the handoff supposed to take place? How was contact made?”

“…”

Still no response. Had it not been for Ghost’s Confusion still locked onto him, Feng Xue might have suspected the spell had failed.

“One-way communication? A careful man. But as long as 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.

As he turned to return to the clinic, the ninja—previously motionless—suddenly stiffened.

Feng Xue, whose battle mode kept his over-the-shoulder vision active, instantly sensed something wrong. He lunged forward—just as the little bell’s warning glow arrived belatedly.

No, not belated—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 ninja froze instantly, like a living wax statue. Yet the images projected by the little bell inside his mind continued to shift rapidly.

“Ding Tian Ming should be flawless—once locked, the target cannot defy my commands. So this change must stem from external influence?”

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

“Boom!”

Suddenly, an indescribable sound erupted—blood sprayed from ruptured vessels, tendons snapped. Yet 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 vanish—he was dead. He immediately asked:

“Is there a method to use spellcraft to directly lock onto the original body?”

“No way,” the little bell replied. “This isn’t real-time control. No Qi interaction to latch onto.” Feng Xue said no more, pointed his fingers like a sword—and instantly, his mental energy surged, transformed by a talisman he carried into a crimson blade crackling with lightning.

With a wrist flick, he unleashed the gamer’s sword-riding technique—known among players as “Thunderfire Sword.” The spell carved a blazing trail of crimson and blue through the air, spinning once—and the ninja’s head fell to the ground.

Yet the body did not collapse. It still reached out with dripping hands, stiffly attacking.

Feng Xue flicked his fingertip—the Thunderfire Sword pivoted, its light swirling, severing arms and legs from the torso.

But Feng Xue did not destroy the corpse. He withdrew his power, pinched a spell seal—and a lightning-marked sigil rose into the air—

“I was ambushed here by a Japanese ninja. New to this land, unsure how to proceed.”

He infused enough energy to sustain the sigil for fifteen minutes, nodded approvingly at his calligraphy, when Ink Yin whispered beside him:

“Who can’t copy from a model?”

(End of Chapter)