Chapter 140 - 113: The Hearts of Martial Artists Are All Dirty

Chapter 140: Chapter 113: The Hearts of Martial Artists Are All Dirty

The moment the woman pulled the trigger, she knew something was wrong.

Every bullet was aimed at a vital spot. Even an ordinary Martial Artist would find it difficult to dodge at this range.

But the man didn’t even lift an eyelid.

He just stuck out his hand, flicking it casually as if shooing a fly.

SMACK.

The bullet flew off course and embedded itself in the wall, kicking up a small puff of dust.

The second, the third, the fourth...

The man stood his ground, not even moving his feet, his palms a blur as he slapped away every single bullet.

A few bullets embedded themselves in the flesh of his palm, but they only went half an inch deep. They couldn’t penetrate any further before being instantly shaken loose.

The woman’s heart sank at the sight.

The man practiced Horizontal Training.

And a very advanced form of it at that!

She lowered her gun, no longer wanting to waste ammunition, and turned to Wan Ze.

"This guy’s bad news."

Just then, the man stepped over the threshold.

Wan Ze watched him intently, trying to determine if he had backup.

’If he has backup, we’ll use tactics for dealing with backup.

If he’s alone... we’ll use tactics for that, too.’

The newcomer was tall with a completely bald head and looked to be in his early thirties. His eyes held the cold severity of someone who had long lived on the edge.

As soon as he entered, he glanced at the bodies on the floor, his gaze lingering for a moment on Boss Zheng’s exploded head.

Then he smiled.

"I only had a suspicion before, but your arrival proves my guess was correct."

The woman didn’t answer, merely aiming her gun at him again.

The bald man took a step forward.

He didn’t walk fast; one could even say he was strolling leisurely.

"It seems what I’m looking for really is here."

BANG! The woman fired again quickly.

But with every shot, the bald man just casually raised a hand and swatted it away, his posture as relaxed as if he were shooing away mosquitoes, easily deflecting the bullets.

"It’s funny, you know. Those folks from the Tail Society went to so much trouble to find a painting."

He paused, raising an eyebrow at Wan Ze and the woman. His gaze held a kind of playful appreciation. "I got a tip today that the Tail Society has pulled out of the Holy City. That was your doing, wasn’t it? I’m guessing it was. Heh, leading the Tail Society around by the nose... you two have got some skills."

The woman neither confirmed nor denied it, simply continuing to fire.

But the bald man seemed to take her actions as confirmation. His tone became mocking. "Well then, I really have to thank you. If you hadn’t fooled the Tail Society, how would a golden opportunity like this ever fall to me?"

The woman frowned, enunciating each word. "Since you know about the Tail Society, you should understand that the thing in here isn’t for you to touch!"

The bald man’s steps halted for an instant.

He turned his head, his gaze sweeping past the woman’s face to land on the half-open safe behind her. He suddenly asked, "Do you know what’s in there?"

In that instant, his tone changed.

Gone was the earlier flippancy, replaced by a desperate anxiety he was trying hard to suppress.

Last month, on the day the old man died, he’d only said there was something here that could make him stronger. He never said what it was.

He had searched for a long time without finding it.

If that couple’s argument hadn’t accidentally revealed the secret room, he would have started to suspect the old bastard had lied to him.

But it seemed...

"Tell me! What the hell is inside!"

The woman didn’t answer, only kept shooting.

The bald man withdrew his gaze. His eyes were cold, and the corner of his mouth twitched in what seemed like a self-mocking, yet understanding smirk.

He knew about the Tail Society, and combining that with the old man’s dying words...

’I have a guess.’

’This must have something to do with Qi Refiners.’

But the woman wouldn’t say it, and he didn’t dare to either.

Those in the know held those two words in far greater reverence than clueless outsiders did.

He looked up, a faint smile on his face. "You know what I know. But what you’re looking for, what it’s for, how to use it... I don’t know."

"But, the fact that *you* know is enough!"

The moment the words left his mouth, the bald man moved.

This wasn’t the leisurely stroll from before, but a true pounce.

He crossed the five-step distance in the blink of an eye, aiming straight for the woman’s throat.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The woman fired three more shots in quick succession.

But he slapped them all away with his palm.

The fourth shot finally hit, but the bullet only pierced the very tip. It couldn’t go any deeper. With a flex of his muscle, the bald man sent the bullet flying.

In a flash, he was on her.

The woman panicked. This damn baldy’s Horizontal Training was far stronger than she’d imagined. She had been firing wildly just now to find his weak spot.

All Horizontal Training techniques have a weak spot.

But it seemed...

’No, wait!’

’His eyes.’

’Yes, it’s his eyes!’

’That’s the bald man’s weak spot!’

But there was no time. The bald man was closing in, his hand reaching out, about to grab the woman.

SHING—

Just then, the ringing of metal sounded out.

The sword was unsheathed!

Wan Ze, who had been gathering his strength, drew his sword and slashed.

The bald man’s face was suddenly illuminated. Sensing danger, he twisted his body and retreated swiftly, narrowly avoiding the blade that grazed past his ear.

Wan Ze was incredibly fast. At some point, he had circled to the side, his sword tip angled, positioning himself between the bald man and the woman.

"A Swordsman? Now that’s a rare sight." The bald man raised an eyebrow.

Before Wan Ze could even reply, he stomped on the green bricks underfoot and lunged forward.

Wan Ze didn’t waste words either.

He sank his wrist and channeled his power.

Horizontal Swordsmanship - Starting Stance!

The sword flashed in a horizontal slash, as swift as a bolt of silk.

The first strike aimed for the neck.

The bald man raised his arm to block. The blade struck flesh with the dull clang of metal on metal.

’This Horizontal Training is seriously tough!’

Wan Ze’s expression remained impassive as he launched a second strike, this one an unorthodox slash aimed at the man’s eyes.

"You motherfucker!"

’You can use a sword like that?!?’

The bald man leaned back sharply. The tip of the sword grazed his eyelid, opening a thin cut between his eyebrows from which beads of blood began to well.

Before he could rise in a fit of rage and embarrassment, Wan Ze’s third strike was already descending.

[Burst Skill: Shock]!

The body of the sword hummed, like thousands of hornets beating their wings at once.

A terrifying force traveled down the blade. It wasn’t a slash, nor a thrust, but a shock!

It penetrated from the surface to the core, from the outside in, like a blow from a sledgehammer!

The webbing of the bald man’s hand went numb.

He looked down.

His expression was one of utter shock.

The skin on his hand had actually split open, and blood was flowing down his wrist into his sleeve.

The woman gripped her pistol tightly, her eyes lighting up with joy. "It’s working!"

"Heh..."

The bald man dodged back to a distance of five meters, staring at his hand.

Then he raised his face.

"...Interesting. I’ve been practicing Horizontal Training for eighteen years, and no one’s ever been able to shock open the web of my hand. You’re the first!"

The bald man flicked the blood onto the ground. "Your sword has something extra to it. What style is that?"

This time, there was no trace of contempt in his voice; it had become much more serious.

Wan Ze didn’t answer.

With a turn of his blade, he closed the distance again, his sword slashing down.

"Heh, you’ve got guts! But guts alone aren’t enough!" the bald man sneered. Instead of retreating, he advanced, swinging both fists.

The real battle had just begun!

The bald man was done testing the waters.

The wind from his fists tore through the air as he rained down punch after punch, each blow aimed at the body of the sword.

He could see that his opponent’s Swordsmanship was strange. But as long as he could knock the sword from his hand, this Sword Cultivator would be nothing more than a declawed cat.

CLANG!

Wan Ze blocked with a Horizontal Sword.

The bald man’s first punch smashed into the spine of the sword. With a low BUZZ, the blade bent to an alarming degree before snapping back.

His wrist went numb, and the web of his hand throbbed with a dull pain.

His face hardened, and the second punch followed immediately.

Wan Ze turned his body, changing his block into a deflection. He angled his blade, and the force of the bald man’s punch slid along the edge, slicing off a corner of his clothing.

But about thirty percent of the shockwave still seeped through, traveling up the hilt, wrist, and forearm, all the way to his chest.

A sweet taste rose in the bald man’s throat, but he couldn’t hold it back.

But with a wild roar, he threw a third punch.

This time, the bald man wasn’t aiming for the man, but for the sword!

He slammed a punch into the middle of the blade. The blow was heavy and powerful, like a hammer striking an anvil.

THUD! Wan Ze’s entire right arm trembled, and the sword nearly flew from his grasp. He took two quick steps back, fine cracks spiderwebbing across the ground beneath his feet. A surge of blood and qi welled up, and a line of red trickled from the corner of his mouth.

The woman saw everything clearly. She lowered her gun, then raised it again, but never dared to pull the trigger.

The bald man was breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on the sword, then on Wan Ze’s hand gripping it.

His five fingers hadn’t loosened their grip.

He spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva.

Only now did he fully understand: as long as the sword wasn’t disarmed, this fight wouldn’t end!

With that thought, he stomped his foot and lunged forward again with absolute decisiveness, engaging Wan Ze in a brutal, life-for-a-life exchange.

CLANG!

The longsword vibrated with a sharp ring.

The sword flew from Wan Ze’s hand, soared through the air, and embedded itself in the nearby wall.

Then the woman’s gun went off.

PFFT! PFFT! PFFT! PFFT!

The bullets peppered the bald man’s body. But frighteningly, even after she emptied the clip, it was all futile as long as she couldn’t hit his eyes.

The bald man dropped to one knee, his right arm completely broken. He could only use his left palm to intercept the bullets, viciously crushing the warheads. His head and face were covered in blood.

He looked up at the empty-handed Wan Ze.

He grinned, revealing blood-stained teeth, his laughter manic. "You don’t have a sword now. Let’s see what you use to fight me—"

He didn’t get to finish.

Wan Ze answered him.

"Is that so."

Three words, so short they were almost miserly.

Then he curled his five fingers into a fist.

In that instant, the bald man watched in stunned disbelief as Wan Ze’s muscles and sinews tightened section by section like a bowstring being drawn taut. The power built up layer by layer, finally converging in his unremarkable right fist.

No sword.

No fancy starting stance.

Just one punch.

As the fist passed, the air let out a piercing shriek as if being torn apart.

The bald man’s pupils contracted violently.

He had considered countless possibilities.

He’d thought Wan Ze might have Hidden Weapons, that the woman might take the opportunity to shoot again, that there might be backup waiting outside the door.

But he had never, ever considered this punch.

How could a swordsman’s Fist Technique be so advanced?

Impossible.

This is utterly impossible!

The next instant, Wan Ze’s fist landed squarely in the center of his chest.

The sound was strange.

It wasn’t the crisp crack of breaking bone, but a much duller, more thorough shattering sound—like a ripe watermelon falling from a great height and smashing into pulp.

The bald man was thrown violently backward.

He didn’t die immediately.

Lying on the ground, his eyes were still open, his pupils dilating very slowly.

The collapse of his chest made every breath sound like a broken bellows. Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, dripping from his jaw onto the floor.

He stared at Wan Ze.

It wasn’t hatred.

Hatred is a luxury for the living.

He just watched, his expression complex.

His lips moved slightly, forcing out the words with great difficulty. "...You’re not a Swordsman... You... you practice Fist Technique?"

Wan Ze looked down at him. "Yes."

The corner of the bald man’s mouth twitched.

It was impossible to tell if he wanted to laugh or sigh.