Chapter 21: The Blood Corpse

Ning Xiu drew his blade with astonishing speed. Only those who have truly emerged from mountains of corpses and seas of blood understand that, when you set out to kill, you must never leave your opponent the slightest chance.

Bloody arcs of the blade flared again and again, casting a demonic glow beneath the pallid moonlight. Each strike was faster than the last, until, at length, the crimson light enveloped Feng Chu completely, rendering his form indistinct.

On the other side, Feng Chu had never anticipated things would escalate to this situation. He had no time to make a move. Ning Xiu’s relentless onslaught left him utterly dazed—each flash of crimson seemed to come from all directions, as if that bloodied blade might appear anywhere at any moment.

He had never witnessed such a bizarre style of swordplay—impossible to predict, impossible to defend. The killing technique he had mastered in the Taihang Mountains found no opportunity to be unleashed; merely holding his defense demanded every ounce of his concentration.

He waited, biding his time for a single opening.

The clash of metal rang out ceaselessly. Though Feng Chu remained on the defensive, he did not lose ground. As time wore on, he grew increasingly composed.

"I’ve finally unraveled your swordplay!" he sneered coldly in his heart. Suddenly, the wild goose-feathered saber in his hand slashed toward the left front.

The strike appeared ordinary, yet it pierced through layers of crimson, landing squarely upon Ning Xiu’s blade, halting its momentum with brute force.

The next several strikes were the same, as though Feng Chu had truly broken through Ning Xiu’s technique.

No wonder he was a notorious outlaw of longstanding fame!

Ning Xiu silently praised him, though having his technique unraveled was part of his design; the art of the Blood Blade relied on unpredictability, without fixed patterns or forms. The moment a man believed he had comprehended its entirety, death was already upon him. Yet, for Feng Chu to see through the feints so swiftly proved he was no mere braggart.

The inertia of human thought is a terrifying thing. The one-eyed dragon died because of it, and now it seemed Feng Chu might not escape the same fate.

What was meant to be a sure strike suddenly cut through empty air. Feng Chu faltered, and in the next instant, a blood-red blade—appearing at the wrong time and place—pierced through his chest.

Ning Xiu withdrew the blade, gazing at Feng Chu, who collapsed in a pool of blood. He couldn’t help but feel something was amiss.

Feng Chu seemed even weaker than he had anticipated. Was the enhancement of the Nine Yang Divine Skill truly so dramatic?

Ning Xiu lowered his head in thought, preparing to leave. Suddenly, a figure staggered and crawled up from the blood.

Sensing something behind him, Ning Xiu spun around. His pupils narrowed at the sight.

The stumbling figure was none other than Feng Chu. Though blood still poured from the ghastly hole in his chest, he yet lived.

"Judging by your expression, you want to ask me why I’m not dead, don’t you?" Feng Chu gave a bitter laugh, then abruptly raised his head, fixing Ning Xiu with a beast-like glare and roared, "Is it not because of you? If not for you, I wouldn’t have failed my mission and become this wretched, half-human, half-ghost thing!"

"In that case, let me send you to the afterlife," Ning Xiu sneered, giving his bloodied blade a flick and once again slashing toward Feng Chu.

Faced with the whistling attack, Feng Chu showed no fear, reaching out with his bare hand to seize the blade.

Yet the expected sight of his hand being severed did not occur.

Ning Xiu heard only a clang—metal striking metal. His blade seemed to sink into rotten wood, unable to advance, and only by delivering a heavy kick to Feng Chu’s chest did he break free.

Looking down, he saw his weapon had been twisted into a grotesque arc.

Though not a legendary sword, the blade was forged at great cost—yet even so, it had been warped by the strength of Feng Chu’s bare hands.

"It seems the one bound for hell is you!" Feng Chu snarled, his lips curled into a vicious grin as he lunged, ten fingers curled like bloodied hooks, slashing toward Ning Xiu.

Before those claws even reached him, the rushing wind left Ning Xiu breathless. He was forced to discard his twisted blade and retreat, but he was still a step too slow.

His right shoulder was grazed by the ruthless talons; his clothing shredded as if made of paper, and a long bloody gash ran from shoulder to forearm.

A wave of searing pain, fiercer than any blade or sword, shot through Ning Xiu’s arm. He tore a strip of cloth from his attire, hastily bandaged the wound, and looked up to see Feng Chu, as if unable to control his own strength, furiously clawing at the empty air.

"Argh!"

Feng Chu howled in agony, clutching at the fabric on his chest and rending it apart.

Ning Xiu drew a sharp breath as he beheld what lay beneath.

Half of Feng Chu’s body had already rotted, black-purple like diseased pork, and the sword wound ran clear through this corrupted flesh.

And the decay was spreading.

Though the process was slow, it was visible to the naked eye.

This, clearly, was the source of Feng Chu’s agony.

"I’ll kill you!" Feng Chu roared, surging toward Ning Xiu with murderous fury. Each step shattered the ground beneath his feet.

By now, Feng Chu had entirely transcended the limits of humanity—he was a monster in the flesh.

Yet before this abomination, Ning Xiu did not retreat. Instead, he charged forward, snatching up the wild goose-feathered saber from the ground. Driving his right foot into the earth, he leapt skyward and brought the blade down upon Feng Chu’s neck with both hands.

"Die!"

With a thunderous crash, Ning Xiu unleashed the Nine Yang Divine Skill to its utmost, pouring all his strength into that single blow. The immense force drove Feng Chu to his knees, his legs sinking deep into the shattered earth.

The goose-feathered saber was embedded two-thirds of the way into Feng Chu’s neck before it finally stopped.

From his observations, Ning Xiu had deduced that only the rotted portions of Feng Chu’s body had become as hard as iron—yet this also made the flesh stiff and unyielding. That was why Feng Chu’s swordplay had grown weaker, lacking the fabled might the martial world attributed to him.

The areas not yet fully decayed, while tougher than normal flesh, had not reached such extremes.

Feng Chu’s neck, as it happened, was one such place.

"Argh!"

Feng Chu shrieked in agony, but still did not die.

He had been a bandit in the Taihang Mountains since his youth, spending most of his life in that brutal trade. Men like him were ruthless to others, and equally ruthless to themselves.

After the scream, Feng Chu glared at Ning Xiu, his bloodied claws extended and a twisted smile on his face.

"If I must die, you’re coming with me."