Chapter 45: The Scythe Society

When the two of them arrived at the entrance of the Cloud Pavilion Club, Wang Gang was immediately recognized. The six members of the Scythe Society, upon spotting Wang Gang, had no chance to shout before Yang Fan struck, sealing their throats in an instant.

With the swiftness of lightning, Yang Fan dispatched all six, then led Wang Gang further inside the club. Within, they found over fifty men, each wielding a machete shaped like a scythe.

“The club isn’t open today. You two, get out, now,” a young man barked as they entered.

“Brother Liang, our men have been knocked out!” someone exclaimed, spotting the six bodies sprawled by the door, his face turning ashen.

Hearing his own men had been taken down, the man called Brother Liang glanced toward the entrance and then shouted, “Get them! Cripple them both!”

At his command, the fifty-odd members of the Scythe Society surged forward, blades raised to strike.

“Take care of yourself,” Yang Fan said quietly, then dashed into the fray. Snatching a machete, he unleashed a brutal scene.

Wang Gang nodded and charged at the thugs as well. Though still weak from his injuries, which Yang Fan’s elixir had mostly healed, he could handle a few street toughs without issue.

Moreover, Yang Fan was merciless and every strike left a member of the Scythe Society writhing on the ground, an arm severed. With such a fierce companion, Wang Gang felt little pressure.

“My god, who is this monster?” Brother Liang turned pale, terrified at Yang Fan’s ferocity. He hurriedly grabbed his walkie-talkie to call for reinforcements and alert his boss.

But before he could finish, Yang Fan was already upon him. The blade in Yang Fan’s hand flashed, and with a single slash, Brother Liang was silenced, unable even to react.

In less than three minutes, Yang Fan had laid out more than half of the fifty men.

Just then, more members of the Scythe Society poured down from upstairs, but when they saw the carnage in the first-floor hall, their faces turned white with fear.

Yang Fan stood amidst the bloodbath, not a drop staining his clothes, the blade in his hand still dripping. He looked like a cold-blooded demon, an unblinking killer.

“Get them! Hack them to death!” one of the Society’s leaders roared.

At the order, over a hundred men flooded down the stairs, charging at Yang Fan and Wang Gang. With such numbers, they were certain two men couldn’t survive.

A cruel smile curved Yang Fan’s lips. His eyes blazed with bloodlust as he hurled his machete, sending it straight through a man’s throat, killing him instantly.

Wang Gang followed close behind, joining the slaughter.

On the fifth floor, in a lavish private room, a young man and a middle-aged man watched the surveillance feed intently.

“Who on earth did that guy bring in?” Wei Yanhe’s expression was grim as he watched Yang Fan unleash his might on the monitors.

Yang Fan’s ruthless method and overwhelming power stunned Wei Yanhe. Compared to him, Wang Gang seemed insignificant.

Wei Yanhe had thought that even if Wang Gang survived, it would take him a long time to return for revenge. Never had he expected him to come back so soon—and with such a formidable ally.

“That must be the expert who rescued Wang Gang,” Wei Yanhe muttered, his voice trembling.

When he’d first learned all his men had been wiped out, Wei Yanhe had been terrified—especially after seeing the crime scene photos. Yet one thing puzzled him: wasn’t Wang Gang supposed to be injured? How did he look completely unharmed?

“Well, well, this is interesting. He’s quite skilled. It seems your men are about to be wiped out,” the young man beside Wei Yanhe chuckled softly, intrigued by Yang Fan’s rampage.

He could see clearly that the hundred-odd members of the Scythe Society were no match for Yang Fan.

“We should leave now,” Wei Yanhe said anxiously.

If someone could impress the young man beside him, Yang Fan must be truly dangerous. Wei Yanhe was just an ordinary man—nothing but an ant before such power.

“Hmph, what are you afraid of? With me, Zhou Hu, here, do you really think I’d be scared of him?” Zhou Hu snorted.

Though he acknowledged Yang Fan’s strength, Zhou Hu clearly didn’t take him seriously.

Hearing this, Wei Yanhe felt a bit more at ease. He knew Zhou Hu was a martial artist of considerable skill. If not for Zhou Hu’s intervention, Wang Gang would have killed him long ago. Moreover, Zhou Hu was a disciple of the Green Gang’s leader, well-versed in formidable techniques.

The two of them continued to watch the monitor as Yang Fan laid waste to the hundred-odd Scythe Society members, leaving them groaning in pools of blood. The stench of death permeated the entire hall, enough to turn one’s stomach.

Even Wang Gang felt his scalp tingle at the sight, and his admiration for Yang Fan grew ever deeper.

As they made their way up to the fifth floor, the remaining Scythe Society members shrank back, none daring to block their path.

At last, Wang Gang and Yang Fan arrived at the door of a sumptuous private room. The door swung open, and Wei Yanhe and Zhou Hu stepped out.

Clap, clap, clap.

Zhou Hu smiled, applauding. “Impressive. Over a hundred men couldn’t stop you.”

Wei Yanhe stood nervously behind Zhou Hu, tense despite his confidence in his companion.

“Master, this man’s dangerous. Be careful,” Wang Gang warned Yang Fan as soon as he saw Zhou Hu.

He had suffered defeat at Zhou Hu’s hands before, knowing full well the man’s strength. In fact, he hadn’t lasted a single move against him. Zhou Hu hadn’t even bothered to continue, merely injuring Wang Gang before stepping aside to watch.

Yang Fan focused on Zhou Hu, sensing the faint aura of spiritual energy emanating from him.

“So, you’re a cultivator,” Yang Fan thought. “But your spiritual power is pitifully weak.”

In his eyes, Zhou Hu hadn’t even crossed the threshold to true cultivation—at best, he was a novice barely scratching the surface.

Yang Fan’s encounter with a cultivator confirmed there were others like him in this world.

“Your enemy is yours to deal with. I’ll handle this man,” Yang Fan said coolly.

Wang Gang nodded, his gaze fixed on Wei Yanhe, burning with murderous intent. It was Wei Yanhe who had ordered his brother’s death.

Feeling Wang Gang’s hatred, Wei Yanhe panicked, retreating several steps involuntarily.

“Well, aren't you confident,” Zhou Hu sneered at Yang Fan. “But I wonder if you really have what it takes. Don’t disappoint me—I haven’t met a worthy opponent in a long time.”

His tone was mocking, clearly not taking Yang Fan seriously.

“An ant,” Yang Fan said coldly, locking eyes with Zhou Hu.

To Yang Fan, someone not even at the threshold of true cultivation was nothing but an ant, not worth a second thought.

Zhou Hu’s lips curled, his eyes turning cold. Insulted, his martial artist’s pride would not allow such a slight.