Chapter 398 - 395: Annihilating the Black Crow Thieves
Chapter 398: Chapter 395: Annihilating the Black Crow Thieves
Thirty minutes passed in the silence.
Fang Han remained in the same position the entire time, like a lifeless statue hidden in the shadows of the canopy.
His gaze passed over the sparse woods, landing on the completely unaware bandits in the mountain hollow.
Some had eaten and drunk their fill and were lying on the ground for an afternoon nap.
In front of the tent, the three Fourth-Grade Martial Artists were still conversing in low voices, occasional stifled laughs echoing out.
Beside the bundles of medicinal herbs, two bandits sat leaning back, making idle chitchat.
A breeze drifted from the hollow, carrying the aroma of food and a sense of the bandits’ unguarded relaxation.
Fang Han slowly raised his right hand.
Behind him, the dozen or so elite disciples tensed simultaneously, their hands moving to the hilts of their sabers and swords, their eyes locked firmly on their respective targets.
His right hand chopped down fiercely.
WHOOSH!
Fang Han’s figure was the first to disappear.
There was no sound of wind, no rush of air, not even the faint rustle of his clothes.
His entire being seemed to have transformed into a wisp of invisible wind.
The next moment, he had appeared at the edge of the hollow, behind the two bandits guarding the bundles of herbs.
"Who’s there—"
One of them sensed something was wrong and whipped his head around.
But the word had barely left his lips before it was cut short.
A flash of cyan light streaked past. He didn’t even see what it was before he felt a chill on his throat, and his consciousness plunged into eternal darkness.
The other man reacted a fraction faster. He had just drawn his saber three inches when he felt a chill in his back. Looking down, he saw a bloodied sword tip protruding from his chest.
The two corpses fell to the ground almost simultaneously with a dull thud.
The sound alerted the other bandits in the hollow.
"Ambush!"
A blood-curdling shriek rang out.
But it had just begun when it was drowned out by a denser barrage of whooshing sounds.
The dozen or so elite disciples of the Qingxuan Sect descended like tigers from the mountains, charging into the hollow from all directions.
Flashes of sabers and swords glittered, and the explosive sounds of Qi Force erupted one after another.
A few bandits, startled awake from their naps, were cut down before they could even grab their weapons.
"It’s the Qingxuan Sect! They’re here for revenge!"
"Fight them to the death!"
Some quick-reacting bandits grabbed their weapons and tried to resist.
But the difference in strength between the two sides was simply too vast.
These dozen-plus members of the Qingxuan Sect were all Sect elites. The weakest among them was a Seventh Grade Martial Artist, and several were even Sixth Grade True Disciples ranked in the top thirty of the general list.
As for the bandits, although there were thirty or forty of them, most were just ordinary Eighth or Ninth Grade Martial Artists. The few at the Seventh Grade were no match for these elite disciples.
In the first exchange, a dozen or so bandits fell.
"You’re courting death!"
In front of the tent, the three Fourth-Grade Martial Artists finally reacted.
The leader was a burly man in his forties with a full beard. He had the build of a bear, broad and strong, and wielded a heavy Ghost Head Saber.
With a stomp of his foot, his figure shot up and lunged straight for the nearest Qingxuan Sect disciple.
The Ghost Head Saber whistled through the air as he brought it down, a strike powerful enough to shatter stone tablets.
The Qingxuan Sect disciple’s expression changed slightly. He raised his sword horizontally to block, knowing he was no match for this man.
However, before the saber’s edge could fall, a cyan figure appeared like a phantom between him and the burly man.
CLANG!
The clash of metal rang out like a clap of thunder, reverberating through the hidden mountain hollow.
The Ghost Head Saber, powerful enough to cleave an ordinary Martial Artist and their sword in two, was stopped firmly by a dark cyan longsword.
The body of the sword didn’t even tremble.
The wielder of the sword, his cyan robes stirring slightly, wore a calm expression.
It was Fang Han.
The bearded brute felt an irresistible, immense force travel up the blade of his saber, and the web between his thumb and forefinger instantly split open.
Blood splattered, and his entire arm grew so sore and numb he almost lost all feeling in it.
His pupils contracted, his eyes filled with utter disbelief.
’Even though that strike wasn’t my full power, I still used seventy or eighty percent of my strength.’
’And this young man, who looks to be in his early twenties, just blocked it so casually?’
Before he could react, Fang Han twisted his wrist, and the Cloud Splitting Sword wrung the saber.
CLANG!
The Ghost Head Saber flew from his grasp, spinning through the air before embedding itself in the earth several yards away, its blade still quivering with a hum.
The bearded brute staggered backward, each step leaving a deep footprint in the ground. He retreated seven or eight steps before he barely managed to steady himself.
He looked down at his right hand. A deep gash in the web of his hand was dripping with blood, and his entire arm was still trembling uncontrollably.
He raised his head and stared fixedly at Fang Han, the horror on his rugged face impossible to conceal.
"Boss!"
The other two Fourth-Grade Martial Artists’ expressions changed simultaneously. With a flicker of movement, they had already darted to the bearded brute’s side.
One was thin and wiry, wielding a pair of Water-Splitting Emei Needles, his eyes sinister.
The other was of medium build, using a Thick-Backed Machete, his face ferocious.
Their gazes fell on Fang Han, then shifted to the bearded brute’s mangled right hand, a trace of unconcealable dread flashing in their eyes.
"This one’s tough!"
The thin man with the Emei Needles spoke in a low, raspy voice.
"Together!"
The ferocious man with the machete said through gritted teeth.
The bearded brute took a deep breath, forcing down the excruciating pain in his right hand. With a gesture from his left hand, his Inner Qi surged, and the Ghost Head Saber, stuck in the ground several yards away, was pulled through the air back into his grasp.
The three exchanged a look, each seeing the same resolve in the others’ eyes.
’This young man’s strength is unfathomable. None of us are his match alone. Our only chance of survival is to team up.’
"Kill him!"
The bearded brute roared, holding the saber in his left hand, and was the first to charge.
The Ghost Head Saber whistled through the air, chopping straight for Fang Han’s head.
At the same time, the thin man with the Emei Needles flickered and circled to Fang Han’s left, his twin needles striking like venomous dragons emerging from their caves, aiming for Fang Han’s ribs and lower back.
The ferocious man with the machete closed in from the right, his Thick-Backed Machete slashing horizontally at Fang Han’s waist.
The three coordinated seamlessly, their attacks coming from three directions at once, sealing off all of Fang Han’s escape routes.
The glinting sabers and piercing needles wove a net of death.
Not far behind Fang Han, the Qingxuan Sect disciple he had just saved turned pale.
The sheer power of their combined attack was so immense that even from several yards away, he felt a suffocating pressure.
"Senior Brother Fang!"
He couldn’t help but cry out in alarm.
Yet Fang Han just stood there quietly, his gaze fixed on the three approaching figures.
’Judging by their auras, all three of them should be at the Late Stage of Fourth Grade.’
’Working together, they could even put up a fight against a Third Grade Martial Artist.’
’If this were a month ago, facing such a siege would have been an arduous battle.’
’But now...’
’The Nine Swords of Sky Splitting at Perfection, the Wind and Cloud Escape at Great Success... although my Cultivation is still at the Late Stage of Fourth Grade, my true combat power has long since surpassed this Realm.’
’Third Grade?’
The corners of his mouth curved into a faint arc.
In that smile, there was no contempt, no mockery, only a confidence that was absolute in its calmness.
Just as the three attacks were about to land—
Fang Han moved.
He didn’t use the Wind and Cloud Escape to dodge. Instead, he simply slashed out with his sword.
The strike was not fast, nor was it slow. Not hard, nor soft.
It was just an ordinary sword strike.
Yet the moment he unleashed it, the world itself seemed to freeze for an instant.
Where the sword light passed, the air silently split open, leaving a thin tear about a zhang long. The mark was as clear as a blade’s cut on paper, and it lingered in the air.
The entirety of the Wind Momentum from the Perfection-level Nine Swords of Sky Splitting was condensed into this single strike.
CLANG!
CRACK!
PFFT!
Three completely different sounds rang out at almost the same time.
The Ghost Head Saber in the bearded brute’s hand snapped in two, the top half of the blade spinning away.
The thin man with the Emei Needles had his pair of Water-Splitting Emei Needles knocked from his grasp, the webbing of both his hands splitting open and gushing blood.
The ferocious man with the machete was sent flying backward, a clean hole pierced straight through the blade of his Thick-Backed Machete. He vomited a huge mouthful of blood.
One strike.
Just one strike.
The combined siege of three Late-Fourth Grade Martial Artists was casually broken by this single sword strike.
The three of them staggered back, their faces masks of absolute horror.
’The three of us together could even hold our own against an Early Third Grade Martial Artist.’
’But this young man, who looks to be in his early twenties, injured all three of us with just a single strike?’
’How is this possible?’
Fang Han gave them no chance to catch their breath.
The sword light flashed again.
This time, it was faster.
So fast that the thin man with the Emei Needles felt a chill on his throat before he could even react.
He looked down in disbelief at the thin line of blood on his neck.
Blood gushed out.
He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but only a gurgling sound escaped.
The next instant, his body went limp and collapsed, lifeless.
The ferocious man with the machete had just struggled to his feet when he saw this. He was scared out of his wits.
He let out a strange cry and turned to flee.
However, he had only fled a few yards when a beam of cyan Sword Qi shot out, overtaking him and piercing through his back to emerge from his chest.
His forward momentum froze. He looked down at the bloody sword tip protruding from his chest, and the light in his eyes quickly faded.
THUD.
The corpse fell to the ground.
Two strikes.
Two Late-Stage Fourth Grade experts, dead.
WHOOSH!
The bearded brute glanced at his two fallen companions, and a look of absolute terror flashed in his eyes.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned and fled.
Clutching the broken half of his Ghost Head Saber in his left hand, he kicked off the ground violently.
Like a startled beast, he sprinted wildly toward the dense forest on the other side of the hollow.
Desperately circulating his Inner Qi, his speed was astonishing, covering over a dozen yards in the blink of an eye.
His legs became a blur, the wind howled in his ears, and the sounds of fighting behind him grew more and more distant.
Fifty yards.
Eighty yards.
A hundred yards.
’As long as I can get in there,’ he thought, ’with my familiarity with these woods, I might just be able to escape.’
A glimmer of hope appeared in his eyes.
But in that very instant—
A faint, almost inaudible sound of rushing wind came from behind him.
The sound was so soft it was barely perceptible, like a mere wisp of mountain breeze.
But the bearded brute’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach.
Before he could react in any way, a cyan figure had appeared at his side like a phantom.
The speed was faster than thought itself. He didn’t even have time to see the face before an irresistible, immense force slammed into his side.