Chapter 254: The Heavy Hammer

Staring at the water stains stretching up to the second-floor window, Luo Bin had no idea where to start—someone had already breached their defenses, and climbing up would be too late. None of the training included rock climbing.

After a moment of stunned silence, his frantic mind finally snapped to sense: he didn't need to fight the wall; taking the stairs would be faster.

The awakened cultivator sprinted toward the clinic's main entrance, shoved open the half-closed door, and burst into a scene of bustling activity.

The soft scratch of pen on paper and the faint popping of the furnace blended gently; everyone was busy, utterly unaware of what had happened.

The apprentices busy with paperwork and decocting medicine turned their heads at the noise, assuming it was a nighttime emergency patient come for treatment, preparing to pick the unlucky one to wake the doctor. But this man didn't look ill, and no patient followed behind him.

The on-duty assistant rose from behind the counter, abandoned most of the blank checklist, and stepped forward: "Dr. Dai Wei is upstairs—I'll go up right away..."

Luo Bin had no time to explain what had happened; he shoved past the assistant, found the stairs, and left the crowd and their fading warnings behind him.

In his panic, the only thought was that another potential victim might be upstairs; whether he could face the intruder alone who had severely wounded a colleague was a secondary concern.

Worst case, if he could just buy a few moments—prevent the intruder from completing his goal even for a few exchanges—the numerical advantage of reinforcements would arrive. Time was on his side.

"Don't come closer!"

As he shouted, his foot reached the end of the stairs—he stood at the entrance to the second floor. His cry echoed back from the dark, winding corridor, as if warning himself.

Worse than facing multiple enemies was this silent, dark, seemingly empty space.

But Luo Bin knew the long-planned heretics were here, sharing this confined space divided by corridors and walls.

A primal fear of darkness rose, but he overcame it, stepping forward with his heel first, then slowly lowering his foot, blending into the atmosphere.

The frantic running had scrambled his sense of direction; the radically different layout of the two floors made it impossible to pinpoint the exact location of the breached window.

The room he'd seen lit from outside had now gone dark; no light leaked beneath any door. This worried him deeply—he quickened his pace. Perhaps he was already too late.

Bringing a lantern might have given him more courage, but it would also expose his position, leaving him vulnerable.

The situation was identical to that of the wounded man: same confined space, enemy in darkness, himself in the light.

He had no way to quickly identify potential victims or the enemy's location; someone might already be dead without making a sound. Delaying further would only amplify that "might."

After days of surveillance, the intruder likely knew the floor layout well—his advantage was even greater.

So Luo Bin prepared to make a risky move.

"Father in Heaven, bless your servant." His boot lifted—but this time, it didn't land softly. He stepped down with deliberate, audible footsteps. At the same time, his short sword drew.

To ensure the enemy heard, he walked several more steps, passing door after door, each concealing unknown dangers behind it.

Few would resist such an invitation—once the only obstacle was cleared, they could do whatever they pleased before reinforcements arrived. Undoubtedly, they were not among "few."

The old wooden hinge turned rapidly, emitting a piercing, shrieking cry—the first note of his entrance. Clearly, the enemy hoped it would be the last.

A door swung open; the hidden danger struck from behind, closing in before the grating sound had even faded.

Though he'd anticipated it, Luo Bin still flinched, twisting sideways, pushing off the wall to kick toward the approximate direction of the attack.

His foot struck something. The attacker staggered back, slammed into the door, and lost balance, lurching forward. The cultivator seized the chance, thrusting his short sword—easily piercing through flesh.

As the familiar scent of rust filled the air, the impaled body gave one final twitch, then grew heavy, collapsing lifelessly. A metallic weapon clattered sharply against the wooden floor.

He knew he'd won the gamble—the payoff matched the risk. He'd eliminated one enemy in the first exchange; the situation was now favorable.

But... too easy.

The image of his wounded comrade flashed again in his mind. Even under siege, someone of this caliber alone could never have disabled a trained cultivator so quickly.

A faint whisper of wind came from behind. Luo Bin caught the detail, reacted instantly, and retreated—feeling the sharp rush of air lift his hair as something heavy slammed down.

A thunderous crash erupted beneath his feet; the vibration numbed his body where it touched the floor.

Pain prickled his exposed face—tiny, sharp splinters of wood had shattered and embedded in his skin. Compared to that minor pain, what truly horrified him was the sheer force behind it—swinging with utter disregard for the weapon's structural limits.

And it wasn't over. The figure advanced with heavy strides; the thunderous whistle signaled a second attack, unbroken and relentless.

In the dim light, only a silhouette with unnaturally long arms was visible—almost maximizing the blunt weapon's destructive potential. Even a fully armored knight would have prioritized evasion.

No time to wonder how such arms could endure such immense recoil—Luo Bin scrambled backward, rolling toward the stairs.

This was beyond his capacity to handle alone. The overwhelming gap reminded him of his true purpose: to draw attention, to delay, to wait for reinforcements.

The figure moved with agility that defied its brute strength—not pausing at all, as if untouched by the two blows, closing in, raising the weapon high, granting no breath, no respite.

【This doesn't make sense...】

Luo Bin couldn't dodge in time. He raised his short sword desperately, wondering if this was his final thought.

The searing pain of torn skin between thumb and index finger told him the force was greater than he'd imagined—the short sword flew from his grip, only slightly altering its path before smashing against his ear.

A metallic ringing buzzed in his ears, colliding with the dull ache throbbing inside his skull. He thought he heard a guttural, dark chuckle—satisfied with this destruction.

The man—or whatever humanoid thing it was—pulled the weapon free from the shattered wood. The heavy, flat, block-like hammerhead revealed its original purpose: perhaps a stonemason's or blacksmith's tool, more than sufficient to crush bones.

Luo Bin felt he could now see the attacker's face—a pallid visage, as if preserved in a coffin for days, its asymmetrical outline outlined by the light behind it.

The attacker also noticed the sudden light, paused, and turned his head.

A girl in her nightgown stood holding a candlestick—she'd heard the commotion outside and opened the door to investigate. Her expression was still dazed, as if just waking from deep sleep, confused about the situation.

No moral expectations could be held for heretics. Luo Bin made the only correct decision possible in that moment: with his last strength, he grabbed the attacker's leg and shouted to the girl:

"Run!"