Chapter 512 - 508: Walking into a Trap
Chapter 512: Chapter 508: Walking into a Trap
"Ahhh—!"
Meng Zhao let out a piercing shriek. His body flew backward like a kite with a snapped string, crashing heavily onto the ground several zhang away and tumbling a few more times before coming to a stop.
The gruesome wound on his chest was still gushing blood, staining the earth beneath him a dark red.
He struggled to raise his head, his gaze fixed on the sight of Fang Han standing there, sword in hand.
His once-composed face was now a mask of absolute terror and disbelief.
’Escape!’
’I have to escape!’
It was the only thought left in Meng Zhao’s mind.
Fighting through the intense pain in his chest, he slammed a palm on the ground, using the force to propel himself backward in a desperate retreat, trying to flee into the depths of the pine forest.
But how could Fang Han possibly give him that chance?
Grievously wounded, his speed was more than just a step slower.
Meng Zhao had barely shot forward a few zhang when a cyan-blue sword light appeared beside him like a phantom.
The Wind Shocking Sword struck again. Sword Intent flared, carrying a sharpness that could tear through anything and a spiritual pressure that assaulted the mind.
Meng Zhao dodged with all his might, but the blade still grazed the outside of his left arm, leaving a gash deep enough to reveal bone.
Blood splattered. He let out a muffled grunt and staggered, nearly falling.
"Fang Han!"
Meng Zhao’s voice was a mixture of pleading and false bravado.
"Let me go, and I swear—the grudge between the Red Flame Sect and you will be wiped clean! I will never—"
"Too late."
Fang Han’s reply was just two words.
The Wind Shocking Sword slashed out a third time, its light like a rainbow.
Meng Zhao tried his best to dodge, but his injuries had slowed his reactions far too much.
The blade sliced across his right leg, leaving a hideous wound from which blood gushed.
He dropped to one knee, gasping for breath, his face ashen. His aura had weakened to its absolute limit.
Lifting his head, he saw Fang Han standing about a zhang before him.
The Wind Shocking Sword was pointed diagonally at the ground. A single drop of crimson blood slowly slid down its tip and merged with the soil.
The young man’s face was as calm as still water, but his eyes were as cold as a deep winter pool.
"You..."
Meng Zhao opened his mouth, trying to say something, but only managed to cough up a mouthful of blood.
Fang Han didn’t give him the chance to finish.
The Wind Shocking Sword thrust forward again.
This strike concentrated all of his Inner Qi, all of his Sword Intent, all of his power.
The sword light condensed into a single line of cyan-blue brilliance, piercing through the already tattered Soft Armor on Meng Zhao’s body, piercing through his chest, piercing through his heart.
PFFT—!
The tip of the sword emerged from Meng Zhao’s back, bringing with it a spray of warm, bloody mist.
Meng Zhao’s body froze. He looked down at the bloodied blade protruding from his chest.
His lips moved several times, as if to speak, but only a gurgling, rasping sound came out.
The light in his eyes, like a candle flickering in the wind, quickly dimmed and was finally extinguished.
Fang Han slowly withdrew the Wind Shocking Sword.
Meng Zhao’s body slumped to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
His eyes, unclosed even in death, stared blankly at the gray sky.
Meng Zhao, a First-Grade Elder of the Red Flame Sect, was dead.
Fang Han stood with his sword, slowly exhaling a turbid breath as he glanced down at the Wind Shocking Sword in his hand.
The cyan-blue light on the blade was still faintly flowing, its sharp intent condensed and unwavering.
The doubled combat power enhancement from the Low-Grade Spiritual Soldier was even more astonishing than he had anticipated.
Without this sword, he could never have killed Meng Zhao.
The Wind Shocking Sword deserved the greatest credit for this battle.
Of course, it was also related to Meng Zhao’s shock at the sight of the Storage Ring, which caused a momentary lapse in his concentration.
If Meng Zhao hadn’t revealed an opening, even with the Wind Shocking Sword’s doubled combat power, it would have been impossible to kill him in just a few moves.
’I wonder if he has anything good on him.’
Fang Han sheathed his sword, walked over to Meng Zhao’s corpse, and crouched down, reaching for the body.
His movements were practiced and efficient. He had done this sort of thing many times before and was completely used to it.
First, he picked up the crimson longsword. He turned the blade over, examining it in the afternoon light—on the Sword Guard, two characters spelling "Redscale" were engraved in ancient seal script.
A faint pattern of flames flowed across the blade, and it was slightly hot to the touch, as if it still contained a lingering, scorching intent.
He unfastened the crimson sword’s scabbard and sheathed the blade.
To serve as the weapon for a First Grade Martial Artist like Meng Zhao, this sword had to be of a high Grade. It was likely a Mid-grade Magical Weapon.
Setting the Redscale Sword aside, Fang Han then began to strip the Soft Armor from Meng Zhao’s body.
It was a crimson Inner Armor of excellent quality, faintly shimmering with a treasured light.
Unfortunately, the Wind Shocking Sword had torn a gruesome gash across the chest, nearly splitting the entire piece of Soft Armor in two.
"What a waste."
Fang Han muttered to himself, his tone laced with a hint of regret.
In his judgment, this was likely a piece of Soft Armor that had reached the Top Grade, and a masterpiece among them at that, comparable in quality to the Silver Soft Armor he was wearing.
Soft Armor was often more expensive than weapons of the same Level. A piece like this was worth at least as much as a Low-Grade Magical Weapon, perhaps even more.
But now that it was damaged, its value was greatly diminished.
He stripped off the Soft Armor and placed it with the Redscale Sword.
Next, he reached into Meng Zhao’s pockets and pulled out several Jade Bottles and a brocade bag.
There were six Jade Bottles in total. He uncorked them and sniffed.
Based on his experience, he determined that one bottle likely contained a Healing Elixir, one was for restoring Inner Qi, three were Elixirs for Cultivation, and the last one, with its pungent smell, was probably some kind of Elixir for a temporary boost in combat power.
For a First-Grade Elder to carry them, their Grade was naturally not low.
Inside the brocade bag were over a dozen silver notes of varying denominations, totaling around 150,000 to 160,000 taels.
Fang Han put away the silver notes, his gaze sweeping over the Redscale Sword, the damaged Soft Armor, and the Jade Bottles as he quickly made a calculation.
’Aside from the silver notes, the other items are either things I don’t need or things I don’t dare to use. They can only be used to recharge the system.’
"Panel."
Fang Han summoned the panel, and the system interface, visible only to him, appeared in his vision.
[Host: Fang Han]
[Root Bone Talent Amplification: 256x (Ninth Level Amplification requires 10,000,000 gold)]
[Swordsmanship Talent Amplification: 256x (Ninth Level Amplification requires 10,000,000 gold)]
[Stepping Talent Amplification: 128x (Level 8 Amplification requires 1,000,000 gold)]
[Secret Technique Talent Amplification: 128x (Level 8 Amplification requires 1,000,000 gold)]
[Body Hardening Talent Amplification: 128x (Level 8 Amplification requires 1,000,000 gold)]
[Wealth: 250,000 gold]
"Recharge Soft Armor."
Fang Han raised his hand, pulling the damaged crimson Soft Armor into his grasp.
With a thought, the Soft Armor in his palm seemed to be licked by an invisible flame, silently dissolving into fine specks of light that dissipated into the air.
The numbers on the system panel flickered slightly:
[Wealth: 250,000 gold → 270,000 gold].
It only increased by 20,000 gold.
Compared to its value of at least 50,000 to 60,000 gold when intact, the value of the damaged Soft Armor had shrunk drastically.
"Recharge Elixirs."
Fang Han reached out and touched the six Jade Bottles. With a thought, the six bottles and the Elixirs within them simultaneously transformed into streams of light and vanished.
[Wealth: 270,000 gold → 320,000 gold]
His wealth had increased by a full 50,000 gold.
Just as he had guessed, these Elixirs were all extremely precious items.
If he took them himself, they would be of great benefit to his Cultivation. Unfortunately, their origins were unknown, and he didn’t dare take the risk.
’But recharging them into the system panel isn’t a waste either.’
"Recharge this sword."
Finally, Fang Han picked up the Redscale Sword and chose to recharge it.
The Redscale Sword and its scabbard dissolved into motes of light and vanished.
This time, the numbers on the panel jumped dramatically:
[Wealth: 320,000 gold → 500,000 gold].
’180,000 gold.’
Fang Han’s gaze lingered on the line of numbers for a moment.
’As expected of a First Grade Martial Artist’s personal weapon. Even among Mid-grade Magical Weapons, it was probably a masterpiece.’
’To think it increased my wealth by a full 180,000 gold.’
’My wealth has reached 500,000 gold.’
Fang Han gave his wealth a final glance before closing the system panel.
With his wealth at 500,000 gold, he was already halfway to the one million gold needed for the Level 8 Amplification.
The goal was no longer far off.
’Next is to destroy the body and erase all traces!’
Fang Han looked at Meng Zhao’s corpse.
With a thought, he retrieved a ceramic jar from his Storage Ring. It was filled with lamp oil.
Previously, because items like lamp oil were inconvenient to carry, he could only resort to the crudest methods of destroying corpses.
After getting the Storage Ring, he had decisively stocked it with plenty of lamp oil.
It wasn’t that he had a malicious heart, always prepared to destroy bodies. It was merely a precaution for unforeseen circumstances.
He poured the oil over Meng Zhao’s body. With a flick of a flint, a tongue of flame leaped up. The dry pine needles and oil caught instantly, and the fire’s glow immediately bathed the overturned earth in red.
Amidst the CRACKLE of burning pinewood, the stench of charring flesh gradually spread, mixing with the scent of pine resin before being carried away by the mountain wind.
Fang Han stood before the pyre with his hands behind his back, watching the body being slowly consumed by the flames. He felt no revulsion or fear from having killed a man.
After struggling in this world for so long, he was no longer the Blue Star person he once was, who would lose a whole night’s sleep at the sight of a corpse.
"Hm?"
Just then, Fang Han’s expression suddenly hardened.
Through the perception of his "Thousand-Mile Soul Lock," he sensed three auras rapidly approaching his location.
Judging by their auras, they were the three Red Flame Sect disciples who had been following Meng Zhao earlier.
SWOOSH!
Fang Han’s figure flickered, moving toward the three like a silent gust of wind.
A short while later, the three appeared in his line of sight.
Their steps were hurried, the crisp SNAP of breaking twigs echoing clearly through the forest. Accompanied by heavy panting, it was obvious they had rushed here at full speed, and their Inner Qi was beginning to fail them.
"Hurry, Elder Meng must have intercepted that man surnamed Fang."
The man in the lead urged them on in a low, urgent voice.
Fang Han appeared in a flash, blocking their path.
His green robes swayed slightly. The Wind Shocking Sword was already in his Storage Ring, and the Cloud Splitting Sword was sheathed at his waist. He stood with his hands behind his back, calmly sweeping his gaze over the three men.
The three of them stopped in their tracks.
The leader was tall and thin with a dark complexion. A long saber hung at his waist, and his hand was frozen just above the hilt, his knuckles white.
Of the two men behind him, one was stocky and wielded a Mountain-Opening Axe.
The other was the youngest, his face still holding a trace of boyishness.
"You... what are you doing here?"
Seeing Fang Han appear, the tall, thin disciple, Zhao Jun, swallowed hard. His voice sounded as if it were being squeezed through his teeth.
"Where is Elder Meng?"
Fang Han didn’t answer, simply striding forward.
His pace was unhurried, the soft SHUSH of his boots on the gravel sounding like a clap of thunder to the three disciples.
Unable to bear the pressure, the stocky disciple roared, drew the Mountain-Opening Axe from his back, and swung it at Fang Han.
The axe strike was fueled by brute force, aimed straight for Fang Han’s chest.
Fang Han didn’t even draw his sword.
He simply sidestepped slightly, letting the Mountain-Opening Axe graze the corner of his robes. His right hand shot out, and his two fingers lightly tapped the stocky disciple’s wrist.
CRACK.
The stocky disciple’s wrist bent at an unnatural angle, and the Mountain-Opening Axe flew from his grasp.
It crashed into a pile of gravel several zhang away.
Before the stocky disciple could even scream, Fang Han chopped the back of his neck with the side of his hand. The scream died in his throat, and his body went limp, collapsing to the ground.