Chapter 473: Even Organ Refining Must Die

The news spread quickly.

So quickly that it didn't seem like it was spoken by mouth—and in fact, no one was shouting to pass messages in this situation.

The Red Lotus Sect had never relied solely on the brute force of driving refugees to act as cannon fodder to stir up such a storm in the territory of Lianshan Prefecture; rather, it relied on the rigorous command system hidden beneath the appearance of chaos.

Whistles, flag signals, and specific fluctuations of Blood Qi—three methods of communication erupted simultaneously in the ranks behind the refugees, like ripples stirred by a stone thrown into water, expanding outward in circles.

"Lian Blood Realm, killed by a single Sword."

"Refining Bone Realm, Red Lotus Dance broken, one Sword severed the wrist, one Sword pierced the heart."

"The opponent's identity is unknown, white hair, black clothes, uses a Sword. Cultivation assessment: at least Organ Refining."

This final assessment hit the command level of the Red Lotus Sect like a basin of ice water. The Altar Master responsible for this attack on Qingxi County—a middle-aged man whose face was half-covered by a lotus tattoo—crushed two beads of the bone prayer beads he was fiddling with upon hearing this news.

The fragments fell in a rustle from between his fingers, mixing into the dust at his feet; he looked down for a moment, then raised his hand and made a gesture to the two figures sitting cross-legged behind him.

"Go."

Those two figures opened their eyes at the same time.

The one on the left was thin and tall; when he stood up, he looked like a bamboo pole straightened by the wind, his dark red robe hanging loosely on his shoulders, making it impossible to tell how much was hidden underneath.

His face was mostly covered by a mask, revealing only a pair of eyes—those eyes had no whites, or rather, the whites were completely covered by some kind of dark red bloodshot veins; the entire eye socket looked as if it were filled with diluted blood, and looking at them for a long time made one feel as if those eyes were seeping light.

The one on the right was the complete opposite. Short, sturdy, with shoulders so broad they didn't seem to have human proportions, his two arms hanging down past his knees.

He did not wear a mask, or rather, he didn't need to—his face was a mask itself, his features kneaded into a lump by some old injury, his nose collapsed into his facial bones, and a piece of his lip was missing, revealing yellowed teeth underneath.

But the aura on him was heavier than the thin, tall one; every step he took left a shallow footprint on the ground, not because of his weight, but because the Blood Qi within his body was so dense it was overflowing, unconsciously radiating with every step he took.

Two Organ Refining experts.

In the hierarchy of the Red Lotus Sect, Lian Blood was the entry level, Refining Bone was the backbone, and Organ Refining was the true core.

Once reaching this realm, the internal organs were tempered by Blood Qi far beyond that of an ordinary person; the power pumped by a single heartbeat could sustain a full-force battle lasting half an hour, and the capacity of the lungs allowed the speed of Blood Qi circulating in the body to be three times faster than in the Refining Bone Realm.

What was even more troublesome was that upon reaching the Organ Refining realm, a Martial Artist's perception would transform into a near-instinctive early warning system; the opponent's killing intent, techniques, and even the rhythm of their heartbeat and breathing could be captured by them from three zhang away.

In other words, an Organ Refining Martial Artist was difficult to ambush, difficult to defeat by someone weaker, and even more impossible to be defeated by some mysterious thing like "the Sword finding its own path."

Their bodies were themselves mobile fortresses, and inside the fortress was a sophisticated reconnaissance system.

These two walked out of the Red Lotus Sect's ranks one after the other, stepping over the mounds of refugee corpses and treading across the mud soaked with blood, heading toward the city gate tunnel.

The refugees along the way automatically cleared a path—not because they recognized them, but because their biological instincts were frantically sounding an alarm.

The aura radiating from these two was too heavy, so heavy it made people unable to breathe, so heavy that even those refugees who had been driven mad by hunger instinctively wanted to stay away.

In the city gate tunnel, Wei Zhuang withdrew his Long Sword.

The corpse he had pinned to the wall slid down limply, dragging a dark red trail along the earthen wall.

He shook the remaining blood droplets off the blade, his gaze passing over the shield wall and the swarming heads outside the gate, landing on the two figures approaching.

His eyebrows moved slightly.

It was not surprise, not nervousness, but a kind of realization bordering on "as expected." He had long known that the Red Lotus Sect would not just send Refining Bone experts to gnaw on the bone that was Qingxi—the previous probes, the charge of the refugees, the infiltration of Lian Blood and Refining Bone experts, these were all foreshadowing. The true killing blow was only now appearing.

"Commander!" The adjutant's voice came from behind, carrying irrepressible nervousness.

He was also a martial practitioner, an Inner Sect Disciple of the Hong Sect, with cultivation at the peak of the Lian Blood Realm; although he couldn't be considered an expert, he still had basic discernment.

Before those two had even reached the city gate, he already had goosebumps—this was the most instinctive reaction of a low-level Martial Artist facing a high-level one, just like a rabbit smelling a wolf; there was no need to see what the wolf looked like, his legs were already starting to go weak.

"Two Organ Refining experts," Cheng Shu said through gritted teeth, the hilt of the blade in his hand creaking as he gripped it, "These bastards, to actually be willing to pay such a price to deal with a county town..."

Wei Zhuang did not turn back. He held his Long Sword horizontally in front of him, his left index and middle fingers pressed together, slowly wiping across the spine of the Sword, as if polishing a precious piece of porcelain.

The residual bloodstains on the blade condensed into tiny droplets of blood under his fingertips, rolling down the body of the Sword.

"Cheng Shu."

"Here!"

"Take everyone and retreat behind the city wall." Wei Zhuang's voice was calm, so calm it was as if he were ordering what dish to cook for dinner tonight, "Withdraw the shield formation, no need to close the city gate."

The adjutant was stunned. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but Wei Zhuang's next words blocked everything he wanted to say.

"You cannot withstand a single casual strike from an Organ Refining expert. Staying here will only result in the deaths of more soldiers I spent three months training."

This was said without mercy, but Cheng Shu understood. He understood that Wei Zhuang was not looking down on them for being weak, but was using the most straightforward way to tell him a fact—the coming battle was no longer something they could participate in.

Just as an ant, no matter how brave, cannot stop a wild boar, this was not a question of courage, but a question of scale.

"Retreat!" Cheng Shu's hoarse voice echoed in the gate tunnel, "Shield formation retreat! Back to the city wall! Move!"

Three hundred sword-and-shield soldiers silently executed the order.

They retracted their shields, dragged away the wounded, supported the gunmen whose fingers had been sliced off, and within ten breaths, they had all retreated from the city gate tunnel.

After the shield formation withdrew, the gate tunnel became much more spacious, leaving only the piled-up corpses, broken weapons, and Wei Zhuang standing alone in the center.

The city gate was not closed.

The two heavy wooden doors stood open, the rust on the hinges making a faint friction sound in the wind.

The two Organ Refining experts of the Red Lotus Sect stopped twenty paces outside the city gate.

The thin, tall one spoke first. His voice was unexpectedly pleasant, clear and mellow, like the chanting of scriptures in a temple, completely mismatched with his blood-seeping eyes.

"White hair, black clothes, uses a Sword." He pushed his mask up, revealing a gaunt face, a playful smile hanging at the corners of his mouth, "I heard a new commander had come to Qingxi County, and I thought it was some waste the Prefect had picked up from some dilapidated sect. Now it seems, my eyes were dull."

The short, sturdy one did not speak. He just stood half a step behind the thin, tall one, his eyes, squeezed into slits by old scars, staring fixedly at the Sword in Wei Zhuang's hand, the muscles all over his body tensed like iron blocks, ready to explode at any moment.

Wei Zhuang looked at them, his expression unchanged.

He held the Sword in his left hand, the tip pointing obliquely at the ground, his right hand hanging naturally at his side, still in the posture of someone taking a stroll in their own courtyard.

"You Red Lotus Sect, attacking a county town," he said, his tone carrying a trace of undisguised mockery, "Refugees charge a round, Lian Blood and Refining Bone charge a round, and now Organ Refining has come out too. Is the next round for the Altar Master to take the field himself? Or are you planning to move the entire branch of Lianshan Prefecture over here?"

The thin, tall one laughed. Not the laugh of someone provoked, but the kind of laugh a hunter finds interesting when seeing prey still struggling.

"Altar Master is of noble status; to deal with a small commander of a county militia, it is not yet worth bothering his old self." He took a step forward, the mud under his feet silently sinking into a footprint an inch deep, "However, you, being able to kill Old Wu with one Sword, do indeed have some ability. Although Old Wu was only in the Refining Bone Realm, his Red Lotus Dance had never failed among his peers. Being able to break that move from the front, you must at least have the cultivation of the Organ Refining realm."

He paused, a glint of greed flashing in those blood-seeping eyes, like someone who had walked in the desert for three days suddenly seeing a pot of water.

"When did Qingxi County hide such a great expert? Even our Red Lotus Sect didn't know; this shouldn't be."

Wei Zhuang did not answer this question.

The tip of the Sword shifted from pointing diagonally at the ground to being held level, the blade reflecting a blinding white gleam in the firelight.

"My name is Wei Zhuang," he said, his voice not loud, but every word clearly entering the ears of the two people opposite him. "Commander of the Qingxi County Militia. If you retreat now, I can pretend today's events never happened."

The tall, thin man froze for a moment, then turned his head to exchange a glance with his short, stocky companion. The next second, both men laughed simultaneously. The tall, thin one laughed until he doubled over, while the short, stocky one emitted a series of gurgling, muffled sounds from deep in his throat, as if laughing, yet also as if gasping for air.

"Retreat?" The tall, thin man wiped the tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes, his voice suddenly turning cold. "Little Commander, have you misunderstood something? Two at the Organ Refining realm against one at the Organ Refining realm; we have the advantage in numbers. And—"

His figure suddenly vanished.

It was not invisibility; it was speed. So fast that even the torches on the city wall could not keep up with his movement, leaving only a blurred, dark red afterimage in the air.

The next instant, he had already appeared on Wei Zhuang's left side, less than three feet away, his right hand's five fingers formed into a claw, the fingertips covered in a layer of dark red Blood Qi, like five red-hot iron hooks, striking straight for Wei Zhuang's throat.

The name of this claw is "Red Lotus Heart-Plucking," the signature lethal move of Red Lotus Sect martial artists at the Organ Refining realm.

The True Qi at the fingertips would explode the moment it touched skin, piercing through muscle and bone to directly seize the heart, then ripping it out by force.

Those who died under this move would have a five-fingered bloody hole left in their chest, their heart missing, which is why it is also called the "Heart-Plucking Claw" in the pugilistic world.

The tall, thin man had extreme confidence in this claw. He had been immersed in the Organ Refining realm for five years, and the heads of those who had died under Red Lotus Heart-Plucking could fill three bamboo baskets, three of whom were martial artists at his own realm.

No matter how skilled this white-haired brat before him was, he was still just at the Organ Refining realm—of course, there are gaps between Organ Refining and Organ Refining, but in front of Red Lotus Heart-Plucking, the gap was not large enough to make him miss.

His five fingers touched Wei Zhuang's throat.

Then he heard a sound.

It was the sound of a blade cutting through the air, very light, as light as a bamboo leaf landing on the surface of water. But the position from which this sound came was wrong—not from the front, not from the side, but from directly behind him.

The tall, thin man's peripheral vision caught a flash of sword light.

That sword light entered from the back of his neck, traveled downward along the spine, precisely slicing through the fascia of every muscle on his back, and finally emerged from the position of the lumbar vertebrae.

Throughout the entire process, the blade did not touch a single bone, traveling entirely through the gaps between the fascia and muscles, just like an experienced butcher dismembering an ox.

The Red Lotus Heart-Plucking dissipated in this instant. It was not that the move was broken, but that the person who executed the move had lost control of his body.

The tall, thin man's five fingers stopped at a distance of only one inch from Wei Zhuang's throat, then hung down limply.

He lowered his head and saw a sword tip protruding from his chest—the sword tip had pierced in from his back and emerged from his front, opening a clean, penetrating wound at the position of his heart.

He wanted to speak, but only a blurred breathy sound came from his throat. Because when he lowered his head, he saw a scene that terrified him even more—the "Wei Zhuang" in front of him, who had been locked onto by his Red Lotus Heart-Plucking, was slowly fading, like a reflection in a mirror into which a stone had been thrown; ripples spread, and the shadow shattered.

That was an afterimage.

It was visual persistence left behind by moving too fast.

"You... you are at Organ Refining???" The tall, thin man's lips quivered, his voice as thin as the buzzing of mosquito wings.

Wei Zhuang, behind him, withdrew his Long Sword; the blade slid out from between the vertebrae without bringing out a single drop of excess blood.

The tall, thin man's body tilted forward, collapsing onto the pile of refugee corpses, stacking together with the poor people he had viewed as cannon fodder.

The dark red bloodshot veins in his eyes were rapidly fading, returning to normal whites—when a person dies, Blood Qi dissipates first, and then body temperature.

From the tall, thin man's strike to his collapse, no more than two breaths had passed.

The short, stocky one stood where he was, not moving a single step.

It was not that he did not want to move; it was that he could not move.

It was not that his acupoints had been sealed, nor that he had been placed under a restriction, but a more primitive, more instinctive reaction. His body refused to execute the attack command issued by his brain.

Every cell was screaming the same message—run.

The person opposite, that young man in white hair and black clothes standing in the middle of the pile of corpses, his aura had changed.

Just a moment ago, he was still at the Organ Refining realm, steady, restrained, like a Sharp Blade wrapped in cloth.

Now that layer of cloth had been lifted, the Sharp Blade exposed to the air; the Sword Qi was not deliberately released, yet it had already soaked the back of the short, stocky martial artist twenty paces away.

Wei Zhuang carried his sword and walked toward him. Every step was not fast, every step stepping into the blood, emitting a slight "patter" sound.

"You are at the Organ Refining realm," Wei Zhuang said, his tone as flat as if stating a fact, "so you should be able to see the gap between us."

A low growl erupted from the short, stocky martial artist's throat, like the final struggle of a trapped beast in a cage.

He slammed his fists together violently, the dark red robe on his body exploding into fragments, revealing the body underneath—that was no longer the physique a normal human should have.

His skin presented an unnatural dark red color, muscles bulging in chunks, blue veins wriggling under the skin like earthworms, and a dense "clack-clack" sound came from his chest cavity; that was his ribs being rearranged under the urging of True Qi, forming a layer of bone armor in front of his heart.

This is the desperate secret technique of the Red Lotus Sect for the Organ Refining realm—"Red Lotus Battle Method."

Forcibly urging the full potential of the five viscera and six bowels to raise the physical body's strength in a short time to a level sufficient to withstand a full-force blow from a martial artist of the same realm.

The price is a reduction of ten years of life, but at such a life-or-death juncture, losing ten years of life is better than dying on the spot.

The short, stocky martial artist kicked the ground violently, the mud under his feet exploding into a three-foot-wide pit, and his entire person crashed toward Wei Zhuang like a dark red cannonball.

His two fists were pressed together in front of him, the True Qi covering the fist tips condensing into the shape of a lotus flower, the petals spinning violently at high speed, emitting a piercing sound of breaking air.

Wei Zhuang stopped his steps.

He held his sword horizontally in front of his chest, his left hand forming a sword seal, his fingertips flicking lightly against the sword body.

"Ding—"

A clear, resonant sword chime exploded in the city gate tunnel; the sound was not loud, yet it penetrated the sounds of shouting, screaming, and burning flames, clearly entering the ears of everyone present.

On the city wall, the moment Zhao Feng heard this sword chime, goosebumps erupted from the back of his neck all the way to his tailbone—he had practiced martial arts for twenty years and had never heard such a sword chime; it was not the sound of metal vibrating, but a deeper sound, as if the air itself were trembling.

Wei Zhuang's figure split into three amidst the sword chime.

It was not an afterimage, not a cloning technique, but continuous movement that had reached the extreme of speed.

Three figures spread out in a triangular formation, appearing simultaneously at the front, left, and right of the short, stocky martial artist, three swords thrusting out at the same time, the tips aimed respectively at his glabella, left carotid artery, and right wrist pulse point.

All three swords were real strikes, all carrying biting Sword intent, all sufficient to be fatal.

No matter how formidable the short, stocky martial artist's Red Lotus Battle Method was, it was impossible to defend against fatal attacks from three directions simultaneously.

He forcibly twisted his body in mid-air, his fists swinging left and right, smashing toward the sword shadows on both sides, while simultaneously jerking his head back, attempting to avoid the sword from the front.

He smashed two of the sword shadows.

The lotus Blood Qi on his fists blasted the sword light on the left and right sides into fragments, the aftermath of the True Qi explosion overturning several corpses on the ground.

But he did not dodge the Sword that came straight for his front.

The tip of the Sword pierced into the center of his brow, the force controlled with extreme precision—it only pierced as deep as a fingernail, yet the Blood Qi on the Sword had already breached the skull, reaching the white, pulpy brain matter.

The Red Lotus Battle Method collapsed in this instant; his swollen muscles rapidly withered, his dark red skin faded to a ghastly pale, and the bone armor on his chest shattered inch by inch, revealing the heaving chest beneath.

The short, sturdy Martial Artist fell to the ground, face up, with a Sword hole in the center of his brow leaking brain matter.

Wei Zhuang stood before him, holding the Sword hilt with one hand, looking down at him from above.

"So what if there are two at Organ Refining... they still have to die~"