Chapter Eleven: The Counterattack

In the shadowy forest thick with foliage, human figures flitted between the trees. The warriors of the Mo Clan fanned out, searching this stretch of woodland in a semicircular formation, each face set with grave determination.

Mo Yanyu’s expression was icy as she snapped, “Search! The moment you spot him, send up a blue smoke signal—do not engage him directly!”

“It’s been three days and still no sign of him. Yet he keeps leaving traces—is he simply ignorant of stealth, or is he doing this on purpose?” Karu’s face was dark, his patience fraying.

For days now, their group had combed the forest, frequently coming upon traces left by Shi Yan—broken branches, footprints suggesting he lingered nearby. Yet every search party returned empty-handed, never even glimpsing his shadow.

“Expand the search area!” Mo Yanyu ordered coldly, steeling herself. “Spread out, make this the center, and comb the forest thoroughly! If you see anyone, send up the blue smoke signal immediately—I’ll be there at once!”

The Mo Clan warriors answered in unison.

“Do you think there’s trouble with the Earth Dragon?” Karu frowned, worried. “All my medicine bottles are there. If that brat goes and causes mischief, destroys my bottles, we’ll be in trouble.”

“Don’t worry, Master. Johnson and seven warriors are guarding the Earth Dragon. Johnson has reached the third stage of the Houtian realm; that little thief is no match for him,” Mo Yanyu replied, her tone proud.

Karu nodded, saying no more.

***

The Mo Clan’s search party spread ever wider, the gaps between men growing. Each warrior carried a blue smoke signal, so they felt little fear—should Shi Yan appear within their sight, they would merely send up the signal and wait for reinforcements.

One warrior moved under the shade of the trees, cursing under his breath. He glanced up at the ancient canopies, then swept his gaze through the surrounding undergrowth.

Three days of fruitless searching had yielded nothing. Since Shi Yan was only a low-level martial artist in the Houtian realm, these men doubted he would stay nearby and suspected he had long since fled. Their search felt pointless, and resentment simmered quietly in their hearts.

As this warrior passed beneath the dense branches of an old tree, he instinctively looked up. Suddenly, a murderous, chilling, evil aura swept down from above. Shi Yan’s figure appeared abruptly, descending like a starving wolf, his knee driving viciously into the man’s face.

A dull thud sounded.

A wave of force struck him; blood streamed down his face as he fell backward, his eyes stinging with a mix of tears and blood so that he could see nothing.

Clutching a dagger, he flailed wildly, shrieking, “Here! He’s here!”

He fumbled to release the blue smoke signal with his left hand, but a searing pain shot through his wrist. Unable to bear it, he dropped the signal, which was swiftly snatched away.

Shi Yan’s expression was cold, his eyes tinged with dark red and brimming with murderous intent. He darted around the warrior with blinding speed, evading the frantic swings of the dagger and kicking the man’s head again and again.

Raging energy surged through Shi Yan’s legs, each blow as heavy as a hammer. In the space of five relentless kicks, the warrior’s life was snuffed out.

Shi Yan stepped forward, calmly pried the dagger from the man’s limp hand, and finished him with a slash across the throat.

Invisible, intangible streams of energy, laden with unrest, anger, and terror, poured from the warrior’s body into Shi Yan’s acupoints. In mere seconds, the man was drained of all vitality, reduced to a shriveled corpse.

Frowning, Shi Yan rifled through the body, finding only a pouch of food and some thirty purple crystal coins. He took the spoils without hesitation, then slipped away through the forest like a fox.

It was his first kill, yet not a trace of fear lingered in him. Throughout the act, Shi Yan remained unnaturally calm. Kicking in the man’s skull filled him with a savage satisfaction—a thrill that left him exhilarated, as if he were born to be a warrior, destined to reap lives in the frenzy of battle.

The pleasure of killing intoxicated him; the moment felt sublime. The days of tension seemed to dissolve instantly when he slit the man’s throat.

Shi Yan knew something was wrong. He was aware that something within his body had changed, for no ordinary man would remain so composed during his first kill, nor feel such euphoric release.

The energy from the slain man flowed into Shi Yan’s acupoints, fueling his bloodlust. Soon, after a wild vortex spun within his body, a strange power poured into his life force, making it stronger and more refined.

A tangible benefit.

***

For five days, Shi Yan roamed the forest like a phantom, striking without warning. Each time, he struck cleanly and swiftly, ensuring his victims fell before they could release the blue smoke signal.

In those five days, three more warriors died. Each time Mo Yanyu and Karu arrived, they found the corpses shriveled and drained of all blood and essence.

Mo Yanyu grew increasingly agitated, searching the woods with Karu, hoping to flush Shi Yan out. Both began to feel the shadow of danger.

The first victim’s face was mangled, his skull crushed, clear signs of struggle.

The second and third victims had been ambushed from behind, stabbed repeatedly in the abdomen, with only faint traces of resistance.

By the fourth, the killer had grown bolder—one clean slash to the throat, no sign of a struggle.

Judging by these four, Shi Yan’s skill was growing more deadly with each kill. The forest had become his stage, a place to hone his grim talent. He moved like an experienced hunter, using the terrain to conceal himself, stalking his prey.

Four dead, and the others began to feel fear. Mo Yanyu and Karu took the matter seriously, forbidding anyone to act alone. Now the warriors moved in pairs, so if one was attacked, the other could immediately respond, making it harder for Shi Yan to slay them in silence.

***

High in the ancient trees, hidden among layers of leaves, Shi Yan sat cross-legged, peering through the foliage at the distant, swaying figures.

They’ve learned, he thought with a cold smile. An ambush kill would no longer be so easy.

He didn’t act immediately but observed. After losing four men, the searchers now moved in pairs. Their search patterns became more scattered, leaving gaps in coverage. At the moment, none were approaching his position; they had delved in three other directions.

Satisfied that no one would find him for now, Shi Yan closed his eyes and quietly circulated his life force. The energy from his victims had not yet dissipated into the world but had been absorbed by his acupoints, purified, and then returned to his body. His life force had doubled in strength.

At a thought, his energy surged, coursing through his veins like lightning. It gathered in his right arm, and with his breath held and focus sharpened, he unleashed it.

The energy in his arm rampaged, wild and untamed, driving straight into his index finger.

A faint, silvery smoke seeped from his finger, hissing strangely in the air, dispersing quickly.

Shi Yan’s eyes flew open, glittering with excitement.

Energy overflow.

It was the sign of reaching the third stage of the Houtian realm. After this period of bloody training, he had finally used the mysterious power from his acupoints to break through to a new level.

Though the energy was not yet condensed enough to form a visible arc, from this moment forward, he could channel it into his weapons, inflicting internal damage upon his foes. His mastery of life force had at last entered the true path.

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