Chapter Twenty-five: Shadow of the Ghost

Shi Yan gripped his dagger, first carving crude butterfly patterns into two large trees. Then, he swiftly climbed one of them, hacking off arm-thick branches with his blade, splitting them into five segments, sharpening each to a point, and haphazardly smearing “Seven Serpent Venom” on their tips.

This entire sequence took him only two minutes.

Two minutes later, Tu Mu and Jin Mo, members of the Wolf Fang Mercenary Corps, arrived as expected.

Tu Mu and Jin Mo had not the slightest regard for Shi Yan or the two women. As they weaved through the forest, their faces wore lecherous grins as they discussed, in crude tones, how they would soon have their way with Di Yalan.

“Whoosh! Whoosh!”

The sharpened branches, slicing through the leaves like relentless sunbeams, shot toward Tu Mu and Jin Mo.

Tu Mu, utterly unconcerned, casually swung his battle-axe, knocking two branches from the air with a laugh. “What a pathetic lot—greeting us with sticks! They’re not even giving us the courtesy we deserve.”

“Pitiful fools,” Jin Mo snickered, shaking his head.

“Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!”

Another three branches stubbornly flew their way.

Tu Mu, now slightly annoyed, swept his long-handled battle-axe in a semicircle, its silver light dazzling as the three branches fell harmlessly to the ground.

From the leafy canopy, Shi Yan emerged, fixing the two men with a cold gaze. “Gentlemen, will you come one at a time, or both together?”

Tu Mu squinted up at him, gave a dismissive shake of his head, and replied with disinterest, “Just a snot-nosed brat, probably just reached the Innate realm at best. You talk big for someone so weak. I’m not interested.”

With that, Tu Mu spared Shi Yan no further glance, turning to leave. His voice drifted back, “Jin Mo, he’s yours. Finish up quickly and catch up. If you’re late, I’ll have that woman for a second round myself, ha ha ha!”

Jin Mo snorted, slamming his massive spiked club into the ground so it sank deep into the soil. “Come down, boy. I won’t use a weapon. Don’t make me climb up after you. I’m in a hurry, so make it quick.”

“So am I,” Shi Yan replied, his eyes calm, devoid of any fear of death. He leaped from the ancient tree, hurling his dagger so it embedded itself in the earth beside the spiked club.

Thud!

Standing ten meters from Jin Mo, Shi Yan raised his empty hands and waggled his fingers. “I won’t use a weapon either.”

“Heh, got guts, kid.” Jin Mo grinned, his pockmarked face twisting, eyes flashing with vicious intent as he charged.

Jin Mo’s fists suddenly swelled, blue veins writhing beneath the skin. As he punched, the air whistled with the force, ghostly fist imprints appearing in the void, growing in number and strength with each step he took.

After five steps, dozens of fist marks shimmered before him.

“Mortal-level martial art—Scattered Star Fists!”

Shi Yan’s eyes narrowed as he focused his vital essence, casting aside all errant thoughts. In his mind, there was only the flurry of fist shadows, and a single desire: to kill Jin Mo.

Boom!

His consciousness erupted as if struck by thunder, clarity washing over him and thrusting him into a wondrous state. His senses sharpened severalfold—sight, hearing, touch—everything was suddenly vivid and precise. Fixing on Jin Mo, he could feel the flow and pulse of essence through his opponent’s arms.

The myriad fist imprints vanished in an instant; all illusions were swept away. In his eyes, only Jin Mo’s two swinging fists remained, their every trajectory laid bare.

Drawing a deep breath, Shi Yan let out a sudden roar. His forearms shriveled visibly, wisps of milky white mist—laden with terror, madness, violence, despair, and other negative emotions—wreathed his arms.

At the same time, beginning at his neck, his skin began to petrify, turning a gray-brown, rock-like and hard as steel.

A hazy black radiance seeped from his body, enveloping his lean frame.

Jin Mo’s iron fists, carrying enough force to shatter stone, crashed toward Shi Yan’s chest.

The black shield twisted and warped under the impact, then shattered into motes of darkness. Jin Mo’s fist punched through, somewhat diminished, and struck Shi Yan’s chest full force.

Thud!

Crack!

The sound of impact and the splintering of bone rang out in the same instant.

Jin Mo’s expression changed dramatically. Agony lanced through his fist, and he realized the crack wasn’t from Shi Yan’s chest—but from his own hand!

Clutching his throbbing, nearly broken arm, Jin Mo stared in horror at Shi Yan’s stone-cold visage, a sudden realization dawning. He cried out, “The Shi Family’s Petrification Martial Spirit! You’re from the Shi Family, of the Merchant Alliance?”

“Clever,” Shi Yan replied with a chilling, icy smile.

Jin Mo knew he was in trouble and tried to evade, but Shi Yan was already too close.

With lightning speed, Shi Yan seized Jin Mo’s throat. The white mist, thick with fear, madness, violence, and despair, surged from Shi Yan’s arm, instantly flooding into Jin Mo’s body.

Jin Mo seemed plunged into an endless hell—his face contorted in terror, his body shuddered, and he screamed, “No! No! Please, no!”

Blindly flailing, Jin Mo’s fists struck at invisible horrors only he could see, as if warding off unspeakable specters.

Shi Yan had already let go. The mist faded from his arms, his expression returned to normal, and he silently counted the seconds.

One, two, three, four, five…

As he counted, Shi Yan calmly approached the fallen dagger, pulled it from the earth, and strolled back to Jin Mo.

When he reached seventeen, Jin Mo seemed to have adapted to his nightmare, his breathing steadying, and clarity slowly returning to his eyes—he was about to awaken.

Seventeen seconds—enough to kill a man dozens of times.

Nodding slightly, Shi Yan advanced in a flash, and with deadly precision, drew his dagger across Jin Mo’s throat.

As blood spurted forth, Jin Mo’s eyes finally cleared. He glared hatefully at Shi Yan, then toppled backward, unwilling to die.

Shi Yan crouched, wiping the dagger clean with Jin Mo’s clothing, then searched the corpse. He found some food, several hundred amethyst coins, and two razor-sharp fangs from a Firecloud Demon Python.

Without hesitation, he stowed the items in his pack. Drawing a deep breath, he felt Jin Mo’s essence flow into his own meridians, then stood and murmured, “Innate Second Heaven—even under Berserk’s negative power, he was lost for seventeen seconds. This martial art truly is monstrous. Perhaps, with more negative energy, its power will only grow…”

After muttering to himself, Shi Yan composed his thoughts, steadied his breathing, and dashed off in pursuit of Tu Mu.

…

“You little vixen, you really are a feisty one! Ha ha, but that’s just how I like them!” Tu Mu roared with laughter, swinging his battle-axe as he clashed with Di Yalan.

Mu Yudie’s eyes flashed cold as she hugged her guqin from the side, her beautiful face shifting through a storm of emotions, as if grappling with a hard decision.

Tu Mu’s massive battle-axe seemed light as a feather in his hands, flickering through the air. Whenever Di Yalan’s short sword met the axe, her delicate body shuddered from the force—Tu Mu’s essence was clearly far stronger than hers.

His axe whirled like a wheel, relentless and dazzling, ensnaring Di Yalan. The sharp blade flashed, sending her long hair flying and slicing fresh tears into her skirt, revealing fleeting glimpses of bare skin.

“Now you know how formidable I am, don’t you? Don’t worry, soon you’ll discover my greatest strength isn’t martial technique!” Tu Mu leered, clearly toying with Di Yalan rather than ending it quickly.

Frustrated to the point of spitting blood, Di Yalan could only struggle to defend herself.

“Need a hand, big sister?” Shi Yan’s lazy, mocking voice called from the woods.

In the next moment, he emerged, dagger in hand. His gaze lingered on Di Yalan’s exposed curves, and he clicked his tongue in admiration. “Smooth, full, perky and round—excellent, just excellent.”

Delight flashed across Di Yalan’s face; now wasn’t the time for bickering. She stepped back and shouted, “You bastard, you’re still alive!”

Tu Mu’s face darkened, his demeanor suddenly grave. He didn’t press his advantage against Di Yalan, but turned toward Shi Yan. “Jin Mo—is he dead?”

“What do you think?” Shi Yan replied with a smile, dagger in hand, advancing step by step.

As he walked, his arms shriveled once more, tendrils of negative energy leaking from his pores and twisting around his forearms like mist.

Jin Mo’s essence had not yet been purified, but as Shi Yan activated Berserk, the despair and resentment Jin Mo felt at death surged from his meridians, condensing before Shi Yan into a fierce, lifelike specter of Jin Mo.

“Jin Mo!” Tu Mu’s burly frame trembled with horror.

It was too bizarre!

Before Shi Yan, Jin Mo’s ghostly image loomed—clawing, wild, weightless—his eyes burning with an abiding hatred, as if yearning to annihilate the world.

Both Di Yalan and Mu Yudie stared in shock, their bodies quaking. Di Yalan shrieked, “What in the world is that?!”

Not only the others—Shi Yan himself was stunned, staring at the apparition, uncertain what to do.

“Jin Mo! Jin Mo! What’s wrong with you?” Under Jin Mo’s vengeful glare, Tu Mu stumbled back a step, panicked. “We’re allies! Your enemy’s behind you!”

Tu Mu’s cry snapped Shi Yan out of his daze. Resolute, he focused solely on killing Tu Mu. The negative energies around his arms surged out, like a ghastly white serpent, coiling toward Tu Mu.

Jin Mo’s specter, driven by the negative force, floated forward and lunged at Tu Mu like a wrathful wraith.

“Kill!” Shi Yan barked, charging. Di Yalan, startled, also slashed at Tu Mu with her sword.

…