Chapter 40

Seven days later.

Qingyu City, one of the southernmost towns of Mangzhou, closest to the Cangmang Mountains.

Outside the city.

Xu Zhiji sat astride his horse, gazing at the distant mountains—layer upon layer, intertwined like coiling dragons and serpents, stretching endlessly without end—and pointed northeast toward Xu Shixiong beside him: “Today we split into two groups. You take a party northeast; I’ll lead one southwest.”

“Yes, Granduncle!” Xu Shixiong nodded, swiftly selecting a group of men—including the seventh-rank Great Martial Master—and rode off.

Liang Jingtang and his apprentice remained with Xu Zhiji; Xu Sisen also stayed behind.

Watching Xu Shixiong’s party vanish into the mountain path’s end, Xia Daoming quietly exhaled.

At first, he’d thought everyone would move together; only later did he learn they were heading to two separate locations and needed to split up.

Now that Xu Shixiong had finally taken his men away, the oppressive weight hanging over Xia Daoming lifted.

An octogenarian eighth-rank Great Martial Master—if anything went wrong, Xia Daoming was confident he could handle it.

As for Xu Sisen, who had just advanced to sixth-rank Great Martial Master, Xia Daoming didn’t even consider him a threat.

In fact, if the opportunity arose, he wouldn’t mind quietly eliminating him.

“Let’s go!” After watching Xu Shixiong’s group disappear, Xu Zhiji raised his whip, pointing southwest, and gave the order.

“Yes!” The group responded in unison, clustering around Xu Zhiji as they headed southwest.

Five days later.

Western range of the Cangmang Mountains.

Towering trees blocked out the sun.

Fallen branches and rotting leaves formed a thick layer on the ground, exhaling a damp, decaying stench.

A group moved cautiously through this dark forest.

Their footsteps crushed the decayed foliage, producing a rustling sound in the silent hills that stirred primal dread.

Five factions, twenty Martial Masters in total, spread out into a loose encirclement, shielding the seven Xu family Martial Masters at the center.

At the very core, protected by six Xu family Martial Masters, stood Xu Zhiji—the eldest and strongest of the clan.

Xu Zhiji held a tiger-head saber in one hand and a map made of unknown beast hide in the other, issuing orders to Liang Jingtang and his apprentice, who led the advance.

“Ah!”

A piercing scream shattered the forest’s stillness.

A middle-aged fifth-rank Great Martial Master collapsed, clawing frantically at his body.

Lines of centipedes—three to four inches long, black everywhere except for a single red line along their bellies—crawled over his neck and face.

“Da Fu!” An elder cried out, stepping forward to help—only to hear a rustling beneath the rotting leaves, as more identical centipedes surged upward, thick as a swarm, sending chills down every spine.

“Run, run—it’s Bloodline Centipedes!” Someone grabbed the elder, retreating in terror.

The others swiftly distanced themselves from the screaming man.

Within seven or eight breaths, his cries ceased. Turning back, they saw his face utterly black, motionless.

Xia Daoming’s face darkened; his vigilance sharpened.

They had officially entered the mountains two days ago.

Yet in just two days, two of their party—including the man just killed—were dead.

One had yesterday wandered into a mist glowing with dreamlike hues under sunlight; the moment he stepped in, his muscles began rotting.

The mist was a noxious miasma formed by the decay of countless toxic creatures’ corpses and rotting leaves in the deep forest, evaporated by the sun.

Xia Daoming had felt his flesh crawl at the sight.

“Huh!”

Suddenly, blinding sunlight poured unobstructed down; the Martial Masters instinctively squinted, exhaling deeply.

They had finally left the damp, shadowy primeval forest.

Before them stretched a wide valley, flanked by sheer cliffs, littered with colorful stones, wildflowers, and tangled shrubs; a swift mountain stream cut through, and far off, a colossal waterfall cascaded like a silver river inverted from heaven.

The view ahead was open, the scenery novel and majestic, the air fresh.

The gloom in their hearts seemed to lift.

“Liang Jingtang, Xia Daoming—you two lead the way again,” Xu Sisen called out.

Liang Jingtang’s face darkened slightly, but he nodded silently and led Xia Daoming forward.

Xu Sisen, young and newly promoted to sixth-rank Great Martial Master, had become one of the Xu family’s key proteges.

Worse, Xu Zhiji—the expedition’s leader—was his own paternal great-uncle.

In this Xu family contingent, Xu Sisen’s status ranked second only to Xu Zhiji.

Liang Jingtang knew full well Xu Sisen was settling personal scores, yet he had to swallow it.

He’d even warned Xia Daoming twice, fearing the youth’s temper might flare.

Yet later, Liang Jingtang realized it was himself who nearly lost control—until Xia Daoming lightly nudged his elbow, jolting him back to sense.

Liang Jingtang and his apprentice resumed leading the way.

The unobstructed view and dazzling scenery gradually lulled Liang Jingtang’s vigilance.

Most others did the same.

Xia Daoming remained hyper-alert, his senses—sharper than any normal man’s—scanning every subtle shift around them.

“Master, watch out!”

Suddenly, Xia Daoming’s hairs stood on end; without thought, he yanked Liang Jingtang’s arm sideways.

As they moved left, a green shadow shot up from the rushing stream—a monstrous creature, entirely emerald-green, armored in grotesque scales, shaped like a crocodile.

Seeing Liang Jingtang had escaped, it didn’t pursue; instead, it opened its mouth and spat a green ice blade at the fifth-rank Martial Master who had been right behind Liang Jingtang.

The attack came too fast; the Martial Master had no time to dodge, frantically drawing his sword to block.

“Clang!” A sharp metallic ring rang out.

Sparks flew.

The man's broadsword flew from his grip, his tiger's mouth bleeding profusely.

He staggered backward.

“Shhh!”

As he reeled back, the monster spat another green ice blade.

“Granduncle, save me!”

The fifth-rank Martial Master turned toward Xu Zhiji, who stood just behind him.

But Xu Zhiji’s face was cold; he gripped his saber in one hand and seized Xu Sisen beside him, leaping sideways.

“Puff!”

The green ice blade pierced through the Martial Master’s body; he collapsed, blood streaming from the wound.

The monster, scenting blood, its eyes glowing green, lunged forward, pinned the corpse with its claws, and opened its jaws to tear into it.

“Go!” Xu Zhiji ordered, his expression icy, showing not a trace of pity.

No one spoke; they fled swiftly from the monster.

Only when they’d put twenty to thirty zhang between them did they dare turn back.

In the sunlight, they could still see the monster devouring the fifth-rank Martial Master, blood splattering everywhere.

“Granduncle, you’re an eighth-rank Martial Master—you could’ve saved him! Why didn’t you help Xiong Qi?” A sixty-year-old sixth-rank Great Martial Master stared at Xu Zhiji, face twisted with grief and fury.

“That’s a Bishui Crocodile—its hide is thick as armor, impervious to blades and spears, a first-rank high-grade beast. If I moved, it would fixate on me!”

“The Xu family summoned you here to clear obstacles and hunt Frost Rabbits—not for me to risk my life protecting you!” Xu Zhiji snapped.

“Even if the Bishui Crocodile is powerful, it’s still a mindless beast! If you’d just held it off for a moment, we could’ve killed it together!” The elder’s fury deepened.

“Fine!” Xu Zhiji nodded, then suddenly leapt skyward; mid-air, his tiger-head saber flashed in the sunlight, slicing toward the elder.

“You—!” The elder’s eyes widened in horror; he drew his sword from its black scabbard to block.

“Clang!”

His sword shattered under the tiger-head saber’s blow; the saber paused only a fraction before continuing its arc.

The elder’s head fell to the ground; blood gushed upward from his severed neck.

Silence fell over the group.

“Who else thinks I should’ve saved him?” Xu Zhiji landed, tiger-head saber dripping blood, his gaze sharp as knives sweeping over each face.

Sweat broke on every brow; all lowered their heads, eyes downcast, fear and hatred mingling in their depths.

Xia Daoming also bowed his head, his heart chilling.

“An eighth-rank Great Martial Master truly is formidable—even at his age, his blade moves so fast, strikes with such force—I wonder how long he can sustain it?”