Chapter 135

In Jianghu struggles, the one who survives isn't necessarily the one with higher martial arts. An Ziyang had understood this truth a long time ago.

Thirteen years ago, An Ziyang killed for the first time, and he killed a second-rate expert. At that time, he was only thirteen years old.

Now, An Ziyang was twenty-six, and he had spent countless heavenly treasures that ordinary Jianghu people wouldn't even dare to imagine just to reach a second-rate level; his talent really couldn't be called good.

But, as long as he was prepared, killing two or three first-rate experts wasn't a problem.

However, his tricks ultimately had their limits.

Firearms had already appeared in their embryonic form during the Southern Song Dynasty. By now, they weren't such rare things; three-eyed guns had long been equipped in the army, and the multi-shot guns that had appeared in recent years could even fire a dozen bullets in a row. An Ziyang's "An-style Sword Technique," apart from the element of surprise, was more important for the firelight and loud noise when the gunpowder exploded; in terms of power alone, it was actually inferior to hidden weapons.

The Ming Cult expert's pupils shrank.

He had seen fire guns and bird guns, and he reacted in an instant.

In the blink of an eye, he only had time to turn his head slightly.

This saved his life.

He only felt the bullet pass through his neck, first cold, then hot.

He suddenly raised his hand to cover his neck and pressed several points on it, but blood still flowed out continuously.

This shot pierced his neck and broke a blood vessel. But he dodged his windpipe and artery.

He wouldn't die for a while.

Then the one who would die would be An Ziyang.

He suddenly raised his head to look at An Ziyang, his cold murderous gaze making An Ziyang shiver.

When it came to deceiving people, An Ziyang was his ancestor. But when it came to killing, An Ziyang wasn't even fit to carry his shoes.

Here it comes.

He covered his wound with his left hand, roughly stopping the blood. He raised his sword with his right hand and attacked with a diagonal slash, covering An Ziyang's whole body.

"Too many people..." An Ziyang sighed.

For a second-rate martial artist to kill so many Ming Cult experts was already shocking. But his tricks were almost exhausted.

An Ziyang blocked with his sword, and the two swords clashed.

Clang, clang, clang—

The Ming Cult expert sneered, drew a circle with his long sword, and then exerted force suddenly.

Zing!—

With a sword cry, the long sword in An Ziyang's hand was flicked away and stuck into the wall with a whoosh.

An Ziyang was in the corner, and without a weapon, he had nowhere to retreat and nothing to block with.

"Time to gamble with my life!"

An Ziyang suddenly raised his hand, fingers together, and turned his wrist.

Zing!

Several sleeve arrows shot out from his cuffs, heading toward the Ming Cult expert's face.

That wasn't all; An Ziyang reached behind his back with his right hand, pulled out an iron wire, and then quickly lowered his head and leaned forward.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

Several back arrows shot out from his collar, arriving first despite being fired later, reaching the Ming Cult expert's chest in an instant.

"Hmph!"

The Ming Cult expert sneered, raised his sword, and used "Night Battle in Eight Directions," dancing around his body.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

Sparks flew, and the hidden weapons were swept to the ground one after another.

There's more! An Ziyang put his feet together, clicked his heels, and then stomped on the ground! Several flying daggers shot out from between his legs, heading toward the Ming Cult expert's lower three paths from bottom to top.

"Tsk!"

The Ming Cult expert's brows were already furrowed: "Is this little brat ever going to finish!? Where on his body is there no hidden weapon stored!?"

If it were normal times, he really wouldn't put these unchanging mechanism hidden weapons in his eyes, and he would just use footwork to dodge them.

But right now, firstly, with An Ziyang's personality, these hidden weapons were definitely poisoned with hundreds of taels of silver; if he missed one and scratched his skin, he was afraid he would be done for. Secondly, he didn't dare to leave An Ziyang's side. If he didn't press him step by step, but instead dodged and opened up distance, who knew if An Ziyang would pull out another bag of Tang Men pill poison and throw it on the ground.

However, this was also the last move.

He approached An Ziyang while blocking, and it looked like he was about to get within three feet.

At this distance, no matter how An Ziyang struggled, he wouldn't be able to avoid death!

And An Ziyang kept retreating, already pressed against the wall. His face was pale, and he kept activating the mechanisms on his body, but he couldn't stop him from getting closer and closer.

Now!

He stabbed straight with his sword, aiming directly at An Ziyang's face!

"Die!"

An Ziyang seemed to grit his teeth and suddenly lowered his body and rushed toward him!

His sword was aimed upward, but An Ziyang's squat avoided his blade. The Divine Thief Sect's brilliant light-body technique made An Ziyang almost get into his arms in an instant.

In this position, it was hard for him to use his sword.

However, if An Ziyang thought he only knew how to use a sword, he was too naive!

Dying struggle! It was more like it suited his wishes!

He suddenly let go, the long sword fell, and then his right hand pulled back, just catching An Ziyang's shoulder!

Rrrrip!—

A sound of cloth tearing rang out, and blood splashed!

He tore the flesh and blood off An Ziyang's shoulder, and you could already see the white bones in the flesh!

"Ugh!"

An Ziyang groaned, raised his hand, pulled a soft sword from his belt, and stabbed it into him.

"Ridiculous!"

He showed disdain on his face, his right hand flew in the air, and after a dazzling display, he pinched An Ziyang's pulse gate.

Clang, clang, clang—

The soft sword fell to the ground.

Crack!

An Ziyang's right arm bent and was twisted into a bloody mess.

"Come here!"

He roared, pulled hard, and spun An Ziyang around in place, back to himself. Then he pulled, dragged An Ziyang into his arms, raised his right arm, and locked An Ziyang's neck.

The outcome was decided.

As long as he wanted, he could kill An Ziyang at any time.

If it were normal times, he wouldn't pause for a moment. But after this whole ordeal, his fellow disciples were all dead, he was injured, he had been held up for a long time, and coupled with An Ziyang's wild attitude.

He just wanted to say one thing before An Ziyang died.

Just one sentence, no more than two breaths of time.

"You—"

"Shoot the head!"

He had just said one word, but An Ziyang in his arms suddenly tilted his head and shouted at the same time.

Boom!!!

A loud noise suddenly rang out from behind the two, almost overlapping with their voices.

Splat—

Red and white things splashed.

A torso fell softly.

An Ziyang also fell softly to the ground, kneeling on the ground, his right arm already crippled, only his left arm supporting the ground, panting heavily.

He heard someone say anxiously: "Son!"

"Are you okay!"

An Ziyang swallowed his saliva and said dryly.

"I'm fine! Just got bitten by a dog a few times."

An Wenjie walked over quickly, threw a flintlock gun on the ground, stepped forward and hugged An Ziyang, tears in his eyes.

Father and son were of one mind; as soon as An Ziyang stepped into the secret room, the two looked at each other. An Ziyang understood instantly that An Wenjie was pretending to be unconscious and still had the strength to act.

After An Ziyang released the poisonous fog for the first time, the first thing he did was run to An Wenjie's cage and throw in a short dagger and this flintlock gun.

And An Wenjie was able to endure, watching An Ziyang get injured one after another, and was actually able to endure until the last moment, only acting when the Ming Cult expert had nowhere to dodge.

An Wenjie had also been tortured for many days, and in a hurry, he ran over, but he was also a bit unable to hold on, so he sat down on the ground and then simply lay on the ground. An Ziyang also lay back in the same way, and the father and son lay crookedly in a pile of corpses like this, looking at the roof of the secret room.

"Heh, what kind of bullshit Ming Cult! In front of our father and son, don't they still have to die!"

An Wenjie said.

"It's just a pity for all my good stuff, so many years of family foundation, all wasted at once."

An Ziyang said.

"As long as we can live, with our father and son here, we can earn everything back."

"Yes, as long as we can live."

"Ha, hahaha, hahahahaha!"

"Hahaha!"

The two laughed like this, laughing both ugly and wildly, until tears came out.

When Li Miao walked into this secret room, what he saw was the scene of these two fools lying in a pile of corpses and laughing foolishly.