Chapter 54: Chapter Fifty-Four: The Pursuers

The second wave of black-robed figures appeared half an hour later.

Having been warned by Zhu Gaoyang, Pei Ye secretly hid and observed, counting roughly four or five of them—likely gathered after receiving the signal from the first black-robed man.

Knowing delay would only bring more, he quietly set Zhu Gaoyang down, then suddenly revealed himself and struck first, lunging at the nearest black-robed man on the left.

Yet this man’s alertness and speed exceeded Pei Ye’s expectations; the instant he saw Pei Ye draw his sword, the black-robed man kicked off a tree trunk and leapt backward, refusing to give Pei Ye any chance to close in.

As Pei Ye’s charge halted, the remaining black-robed figures immediately closed in, and the one who had retreated several zhang now stood upright, hand on his blade.

Pei Ye scanned the surroundings: four or five black-robed men watched him from high and low positions, their postures tense and guarded, clearly wary of the corpse left behind in nothing but clothing.

He held his sword horizontally before him, knowing he still had to strike first.

His heart pounded like a drum—not from the pressure of being surrounded, but from the lingering shock of the stirring within his abdomen; Pei Ye had no time for calm thought, and leapt forward to attack one of them.

The man immediately retreated, while those behind pressed forward to offer support.

At this moment, Qunshou activated; Pei Ye stamped on a nearby tree trunk, spun sharply, and turned his sword against the man behind him.

In Qunshou’s vision, the man’s face showed shock, then his body instinctively halted and stepped back, qi surging to greatly reduce the sluggishness of the motion.

In normal vision, this black-robed man would have appeared to dart forward and retreat like a ghost, as if entirely without inertia.

But under Qunshou, the transition was glaringly obvious.

This man was clearly far inferior to the first black-robed figure Pei Ye had chosen to ambush—perhaps a gap between the Seventh and Eighth Lives.

Realizing he could not retreat safely, the black-robed man decisively stopped, drew his blade, and aimed to trade a strike, waiting for his comrades to come to his aid.

Unfortunately, they had not seen the corpse with its throat slit, so they did not realize this move could not be countered.

The sword technique, already elusive, became even more incomprehensible under Qunshou’s enhancement, embodying the truth that speed alone breaks all defense; the black-robed man’s five senses were instantly stripped away, plunging him into darkness, his own blade swinging blindly, while the opponent’s sword struck like a venomous snake at his throat.

The strike landed true; Pei Ye recoiled from the wounded, dying black-robed man as if from a viper, eager to flee—but too late. The tendrils within his abdomen, long poised, shot out like spider silk and instantly latched onto the corpse.

Devouring the body like a ravenous beast, the abdomen gave a violent lurch; Pei Ye turned deathly pale, nearly collapsing.

It was merely another small stirring—but Pei Ye felt as if his belly would explode, and he instinctively pressed his hand against it.

Pei Ye had never felt such frantic unease; he didn’t even realize he was whispering: “Don’t come out, don’t come out…”

A calm, low voice echoed from within his abdomen: “Still your spirit!”

Pei Ye took a deep breath and stood, turning back; the remaining black-robed men had halted at a considerable distance behind him, bodies taut, as if facing a great enemy.

Clearly, the sight of their companion being slain without resistance had given them a new understanding of the boy’s sword skill.

And witnessing this boy devour the corpse confirmed his identity before them.

The purple-robed shadow emissary had sent word to circle back and capture the fugitive host—and now, they had truly encountered him.

Pei Ye knew such an effortless, sudden kill would not come again.

But it was just as well—he dared not kill again.

Assuming they would not dare approach further, Pei Ye brandished his sword and charged straight outward.

Yet the moment he moved, they disregarded their lives entirely, rushing to block him; Pei Ye, startled, retreated—and was forced back into the encirclement.

Looking at their cold, solemn faces, Pei Ye understood—they feared nothing, not death, only dying too quickly and letting him escape.

Their goal was to trap him here, until the purple-robed man arrived.

If he insisted on leaving, they would willingly become bait, letting the cocoon in his belly hatch here, rather than let him carry the Candle World Sect’s essence away to Immortal Platform.

“Then come,” Pei Ye grinned.

The ceaseless tremor in his heart was wearing down his patience; he charged again, this time with unhidden murderous intent.

The black-robed men surged forward together; Pei Ye pierced one’s throat with his sword, while simultaneously, a blade pierced his waist.

The tendrils within his abdomen shot out to devour the severely wounded man ahead; Pei Ye spun and slashed, severing the arm of the man behind him.

Two more black-robed men rushed in from the other directions; the battle instantly descended into a brutal exchange of lives—Pei Ye could aim for vital points, but they sought only to disable him.

One blade targeted his arm, another his thigh; if either struck true, he would lose mobility and be trapped here.

Though Qunshou could discern escape routes, his body had its limits; under four-sided assault, Pei Ye could not guard all directions.

He had to choose: he thrust his sword straight at the throat of the man aiming for his thigh.

Yet even this strike was not his full strength—he deliberately gave the man time to react, intending to force him back and then turn to kill another, breaking the deadlock.

But the man before him charged forward coldly, his eyes fixed only on Pei Ye’s leg, even offering his own throat to the blade.

Pei Ye had no choice but to kill him, and at once, searing pain shot through his left arm—the blade had precisely severed his tendons.

The tendrils within his abdomen had finished devouring the first man and now surged toward the second; the light cocoon stirred again, more distinctly this time; Pei Ye’s panic erupted—but was immediately bound by a resilient cord: Qunshou’s control over his spirit.

“Don’t panic. Strike,” the black dragon’s voice was steady.

The man who had severed his left arm was the very one Pei Ye had first attempted to ambush—his calm and alertness were the most remarkable—and now he was retreating swiftly.

Pei Ye forced down his panic, gritted his teeth, twisted, and struck; perhaps by instinct, this strike was not another [Clouds Hide the Eyes and Feathers], but an unconscious continuation into the second form.

The first form strips away all your powerful shells, to see if your inner resolve remains firm and courageous; the second form strips away even that resolve, to see if, in a state of panic and confusion, you can still strike this sword.

Pei Ye struck—and this form was [Snowy Night, Soul Falls in Shock].

The man’s composed retreat faltered; his cold face twisted with terror.

This had nothing to do with fear of death—the sword intent struck directly at the heart; in his panic, Pei Ye stepped forward and drove his sword through the man’s heart.

A cold blade struck from behind—the man whose arm he had severed, seizing the moment Pei Ye could not retract his sword, thrusting it deep into his chest and abdomen.

Pei Ye turned his head coldly, and grasped the blade embedded in his body.

From his hand, an icy frost spread along the blade, instantly coating the black-robed man’s entire body.

The black-robed man cracked apart, piece by piece, like shattered glass.

Pei Ye pulled the sword from his body, released his grip—and the blade shattered into fine grains of ice.