Chapter 19: The Smiling Fox

After these days of cultivation, the Nine Yang Divine Skill had shown no obvious progress; it had merely advanced from the stage of a novice to that of a beginner. The Blood Blade Technique, on the other hand, had been honed amidst rivers of blood and mountains of corpses. The system’s evaluation was that he wielded it with practiced ease, just half a step away from true mastery and perfection.

In a small grove on the western outskirts of the city, Ning Xiu had recently chosen this place to practice his blade every day.

It was still before dawn. He stood before a great tree, his body suddenly leaning forward, the Blood Blade in his hand trembling abruptly. The blade darted out like a crimson viper, striking forward with lightning speed.

It was as swift as a flash, changing ceaselessly, unpredictable and elusive.

Ning Xiu sheathed the blade. Only after a moment did a series of crisp cracking sounds ring out. The trunk of the large tree before him, thick enough for a man to encircle with his arms, was suddenly sliced into dozens of neat pieces.

To the naked eye, each piece of wood was precisely the same size.

Perhaps it was an illusion, but ever since mastering the Nine Yang Divine Skill, he felt his comprehension of the Blood Blade Scripture had grown even deeper. Di Yun, who bore the Divine Illumination Classic, had similarly mastered the Blood Blade Scripture in a very short time.

According to the Da Qian Dynasty’s ranking of martial artists, Ning Xiu estimated he had reached the second rank, though his actual combat strength far surpassed that.

But this pace was still too slow for him. It had already been nearly half a year since his rebirth; the current situation did not allow him to progress methodically.

For Ning Xiu now, not taking risks was the greatest risk of all.

The grudge with Black Wind Stockade was already set in stone—adding another head to his list hardly mattered.

Over these days, he had carefully collected information about Feng Chu. He knew that in his early years, Feng Chu had turned bandit in the Taihang Mountains, returning to Lingnan five years ago to found Black Wind Stockade. His origins were unclear, but he was known to possess the power of a second-rank master, wielding a Wild Goose Plume Saber with a ruthless technique and profound inner strength.

Black Wind Stockade had three chiefs. Besides Feng Chu and the One-Eyed Dragon, the third chief, Huang Bingcheng, was a failed scholar who had turned to banditry after his hopes in the imperial exams were dashed. Of the three, he was the weakest but also the most vicious.

Now that the One-Eyed Dragon was dead, Ning Xiu needed only to pay attention to the other two. The rest of the rabble—no matter how many came, he would kill them all!

Of course, Ning Xiu had no intention of charging recklessly up the mountain to attack their stronghold.

Even bandits needed to live; they couldn’t stay holed up in their lair forever. No one expected these murderers and arsonists to farm their own food.

After several days of observation, Ning Xiu finally found a lone bandit from Black Wind Stockade—a burly man with a dark face, who, evidently planning to take all the spoils for himself, had come alone to a nearby village to loot.

The dark-faced bandit was in high spirits, thinking he might even find a pretty village girl for himself. But as he passed through a small grove near the village, a sudden blow struck the back of his head. He blacked out instantly.

Ning Xiu dragged the unconscious bandit to a secluded spot and glanced at him. The man still wore a lecherous grin, dreaming sweet dreams even in his stupor.

There was no need to guess the subject of a bandit’s dreams.

Ning Xiu’s lips twitched. He promptly kicked the man awake, unable to bear such an expression on the face of this burly fellow.

Groaning from the pain, the bandit slowly opened his eyes, confusion clouding his gaze as he failed to grasp his predicament. Only when he saw the infamous, nightmare-inducing, ghostly face above him did he suddenly come to his senses, trembling with terror.

“You—you… what do you want?”

“I—I only just became a bandit, haven’t done anything terrible yet. I was just going to the village for a little… yes, to ask for some food, that’s all,” he stammered, panic rising as Ning Xiu remained silent, afraid his life would end with a single stroke.

“I’ll ask you a few questions. Answer honestly,” Ning Xiu rasped.

“Hero, if I tell you everything, will you spare me?”

Ning Xiu glanced at him, loosened his right hand, and let the blade drop. It landed with a thud, embedding itself three inches from the bandit’s cheek. The man was so frightened he nearly fainted, blubbering, “Don’t—don’t kill me, ask! Hero, just ask!”

“That’s more like it.”

Satisfied, Ning Xiu nodded. “Since you’re a member of Black Wind Stockade, you should know its details, right?”

“I’ve been with the gang for two or three years now. As long as it’s not a secret, I know about it.”

Ning Xiu nodded slightly. “How many people are in Black Wind Stockade? What’s the situation with your chiefs? Just tell me what you know.”

“There are about a hundred brothers left in the stockade now. The chief suddenly went into seclusion a few days ago, so the third chief is handling all the affairs. As for the second chief…” The bandit glanced at Ning Xiu, speaking honestly.

The second chief, the One-Eyed Dragon, had already died at Ning Xiu’s hand.

“In seclusion?” Ning Xiu frowned.

“That’s what the third chief said. As for the truth, we underlings can’t know for sure.”

“What about the third chief’s strength?”

The third chief of Black Wind Stockade, Huang Bingcheng, was known as the “Smiling Fox.” He mainly served as the strategist, rarely showing his martial prowess. Thus, the bandit couldn’t say for certain how strong he was.

Ning Xiu pressed with a few more questions. From the man’s answers, he learned about the sentry placements, patrol routes, and topography of the stockade. He realized that a lowly bandit like this could provide only so much information.

In the end, Ning Xiu did not spare him for his cooperation.

He had never promised mercy. A bandit who had preyed on others for two or three years and claimed to have done nothing evil—no one, not even a ghost, would believe that.

The moment he became a bandit, he should have been ready to die.

At least he could be grateful that Ning Xiu’s blade was swift—so swift he felt no pain at all.

With the One-Eyed Dragon dead, Black Wind Stockade’s defenses had become even tighter.

Without the inside knowledge of the stockade’s layout and sentry routes, Ning Xiu would not have been able to infiltrate so easily.

He glanced at the courtyard behind the stockade. According to the black-faced bandit, that was where Feng Chu was secluding himself, while the third chief, Huang Bingcheng, should be in his own quarters handling affairs.

Taking advantage of the night, Ning Xiu made his way directly toward Huang Bingcheng’s courtyard.

Recently, the frequent appearances of the Ghost-Faced Swordsman had left Huang Bingcheng deeply troubled. Half their men had been lost, and their spoils had plummeted accordingly.

As he brooded over his predicament, a sudden knocking sounded at the door—thump, thump, thump.