Chapter 21
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Demon's Roar - 3
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The Flying Heaven Inn was a grand five-story pavilion. Built by the Tian Clan for the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering, it never doused its lights even deep into the night. The young swordsmen were full of vigor and eager to build connections.
Waiters bustled about, serving meat platters. Laughter rang out cheerfully amid the lively chatter. The scent of liquor wafted through the air before settling on someone's shoulder.
Then, a girl and a man appeared on the first floor.
"Hui, could you close the door for me?"
"Of course."
Creeeak—the hinges ground loudly. In an instant, all eyes turned their way. Who would show up here at this late hour? An uninvited guest? Or perhaps some eccentric of the martial world.
The man was dressed in shabby rags. His tattered overcoat and wide-brimmed hat made him hard to identify. A precious sword hung at his waist, worth a pretty sum by the look of it. From the depths of his hat, a sinister red gleam occasionally flickered in his eyes.
The girl, by contrast, wore no veil—her bare face on full display. A beauty with delicate features blooming radiantly, her skin white as fine jade. She scanned the room with an utterly calm expression, her dark eyes sweeping across the entire first floor.
Two striking figures. But they shared one thing in common.
A faint bloody scent that had begun to linger in the air.
"I'd like you to guard the door. We need to save your strength for the important moment, right?"
"..."
What did she mean by that?
The man nodded at her cryptic words and took position by the closed door. He drew his sword without a word. The natural tension thickened, and one warrior gripped his sword hilt tightly.
Something felt ominous, though none could say what. Something was about to happen. Very soon.
The girl parted her red lips.
"If you've never cultivated inner energy..."
Shing—a warrior drew his blade. Thirty-four swordsmen filled the first floor, all at least second-rate experts. Ronin worth more than fifty taels each.
People who had carved out their place in the brutal jianghu. Their skills were beyond doubt. Few could take them all down. Yet every one of them felt unease creeping in.
Finally, one could hold back no longer.
"Hyah!"
The first warrior charged with spirit, slashing horizontally. A basic sweeping cut tracing a semicircle. The girl's hand slipped into its path.
Clang—the sword shattered into two pieces in a single blow. All the steel crescent left on her arm was a thin scratch.
Sorcery?
While the warrior stood dumbfounded at the impossible sight, the girl's slender hand seized his arm. What followed was no word. Just a scream, shock, agony, and death. Kyahaaak! Aaak! Indescribable pain tore from his throat.
Amid the gushing blood, the girl spoke.
"You'll live."
She tossed aside the severed arm. Thud, roll... A human forearm tumbled across the cedar floorboards. The wood drank in the blood, staining red.
Three, two, one.
"Hah!"
"Hyat!"
The three nearest lunged at once, each unleashing their finest thrusting strike.
Faith.
No human flesh could block a blade. Diamond indestructibility—that realm where mind and body stood unshaken. Only Shaolin's veteran monks with inner energy piercing the heavens could demonstrate such a feat. They must have seen wrong, everyone thought.
Flesh can't stop steel!
Thok.
It stopped, as if swung against rock. A thin trickle of blood beaded on the girl's skin. And in the next instant...
'Fast!'
Her hands moved like flickering jade—visible only to the eyes, barely. No forms, no techniques. Just an extension of the arms.
The warrior twisted into a footwork stance, ducking low. He'd dodged nimbly. Or so he thought. In truth, he'd just been lucky.
Somehow, two necks now lay gripped in the girl's hands.
Snap—a gruesome sound echoed as the victims crumpled. Swish, her skirt brushed the floor. Instinct drove them back. It didn't matter who saw.
That's no human. Run—
"Kyahaaak!"
The next thought drowned in a scream. Blood sprayed from an outstretched hand. The victim with a hole punched through his chest collapsed.
All eyes locked on the girl withdrawing her bloodied hand. Terror flooded their hearts. A demon's visage seemed to overlay her face. Without exception, their bodies trembled like aspen leaves. Sword tips wavered.
Chills stabbed down their spines. Fear supplanted reason.
"It's a yokai! A demon's appeared!"
"Die, you witch!"
"We have to get out of here. Hurry!"
"D-don't come closer! Come any nearer, and I'll kill this brat!"
Some unleashed sword forms at the girl. Others bellowed alarms to their bosses upstairs. Some sought an opening to flee. Even one had grabbed a waiter as a hostage. But nothing worked.
Swish—
Her skirt soaked in blood. Through the open door, the untrained fled in panic.
The stairs to the upper floor creaked.
This floor.
Nineteen warriors lay dead. The remaining five hurled themselves out the pavilion's windows.
Those with swift lightness skills escaped alive, but the rest clutched broken legs and crawled desperately. Cold bit into their nails as they snapped, but they ignored it.
Third floor.
The Cypress Severing Sword guarding the stairs died first, both arms torn off, writhing on the ground until he stilled.
The Cloud Wind Scholar who tried to negotiate had his head split open—the girl seized his jaws and ripped them apart.
With that, no choices remained. The seven first-rate experts on the third floor attacked in unison.
A moment later, they were all cold corpses.
Fourth floor.
The Hua Clan's Red Horse Division Leader thrust his spear the instant he spotted the girl. The Prestige Pavilion's sub-leader hurled a Sichuan Tang Clan flying iron he'd acquired long ago.
The green steel infused with twenty years of inner energy failed to pierce her palm. The Tang hidden weapon left a long gash on her arm.
Both died with hearts run through.
And the fifth floor.
"Stay behind me..."
"Young Master Tian."
"Tell my father this unfilial son met a death without shame."
The World Dragon took the lead. Better to die first than cower at the rear and be called a coward.
He didn't know his foe, but he couldn't tarnish the Tian Clan name. If Hua Chelin survived, they could rise again. Even at the cost of his life, for the clan alone—the World Dragon repeated this to himself.
Foolish bravado.
A fishy stench drifted up from below.
Cloying blood reek clung to his nostrils. Lanterns extinguished, they raised swords toward the dark lower floors. From the muddy, rippling shadows came screams. Long, agonized wails—once, twice, then silence. Nothing more.
Shiver, sword tips quaked. His arms too. The World Dragon saw it plainly.
Turning, he saw five swordsmen arrayed like him—representatives of minor Guangdong clans.
He forced a shout.
"Come out! Don't mock me!"
But.
Terror-numbed legs refused to feel. They shook too violently for footwork. And then—gasp. Someone swallowed hard.
From the pitch darkness emerged a wide-brimmed hat.
"Who are you! Argh!"
It was no shout of spirit, but a scream. His thrust met resistance. An oddly familiar sword path.
Only then did the World Dragon recognize him. The familiar build, the sword style from yesterday's clash. The commoner who should be locked in the dungeon, his sacrificial offering.
"You... you're that...? And that sword?"
Bai Hui gave no answer. He raised his blade.
The sword the girl had used to kill the Tian Clan head before handing it to him. Blood stained its tempered edge red. Closing his eyes, he traced five arcs mimicking that blood hue.
One from above. Two from the side. Two head-on.
Bai Hui opened his eyes. Whoosh—he twisted aside, deflecting a thrust. Seized a shoulder, wrenched it, and slammed the man into the wall. Twisting Silk Scripture, untaught. One glimpse in his childhood training hall sufficed. Heart energy empowered his arms.
"Die!"
A youthful voice. The sharp sword cleaved air. Stab—Bai Hui's blade pierced the side of the man pinned to the wall. Gurk, a death rattle escaped as the corpse went still. Bai Hui's hat vanished into the shadows.
The counterattack followed—the corpse's sword shot forth. Tense Hua Chelin missed it. Kyaak, a scream. Then death.
Thousand Kills Star senses were lethal. The sword pierced her defensive forms, embedding in her throat.
"Little thief!"
The World Dragon swung wildly in rage. But Bai Hui ignored it. His acrobatic lines effortlessly evaded the steel arcs. One down—someone's life fled this world. And the last. Bai Hui grabbed the collar of the man peering out, about to leap.
A rising knee shattered his ribcage. As he rolled screaming on the floor, Bai Hui stomped his back. Crushed spine—he'd move no more.
Only the World Dragon remained.
At last, Bai Hui sheathed his sword. Grease gleamed on the scabbard as it clicked home.
"Ah..."
So this was the feeling.
Just a sliver of inner energy added, yet everything felt worlds apart. Range of motion, power behind strikes, reaction speed, agility. All utterly novel.
"So you've been living in a world like this."
"What nonsense spouts from your mouth, you vile thief!"
The World Dragon leveled his sword. His mind still calculated odds. A glance at the stairs revealed an unknown woman had appeared.
She smiled faintly.
Escape sealed. No other way. It wasn't a question of could he win. He had to.
He glared at Bai Hui with all his might. Drew a deep breath.
His sword trembled. But this time, not from fear. Innate vitality—the primal energy of life. On the brink of death, the World Dragon forcibly drew it forth. Wrinkles creased his brow. His hair whitened.
In exchange, he gained inner energy levels beyond his lifetime dreams. The blade quivered, unable to contain the surging power.
Look at that arrogant fool. I can win! the World Dragon thought. I will win. Against me now!
"Raaah! White Dragon Soars to the Heavens!"
Leaping high, the World Dragon spun his sword in a circle. Storm-like sword wind crackled, on the verge of erupting. A sudden gust whipped the room—it was undoubtedly the pinnacle realm he'd craved.
But.
Thud. His body dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
Bai Hui's hand now held a drawn sword. Drawing technique, swift-blade art.
The ultimate weapon granted to those who trusted their senses.
Thousand Kills Star had instinctively uncovered the best way to wield itself.
The scabbard at his left waist. From it sprang a left-handed quick-draw. And more—stab. The drawn blade gripped in reverse.
A sword style perfectly suited to piercing the expectations of those trained in systematic techniques.
"Weren't you originally right-handed?"
"I used my left. My father was left-handed too."
"Everything backwards. What a strange sword."
Bai Hui, perched on a chair, gazed at the World Dragon's corpse.
The moon reflected beautifully in the pool of blood.
"Not as much as you, miss. Ha, haha."
In the empty inn, the girl and the boy laughed together. Their low chuckles spread through the cold night... then, at some point, faded away.
That night, the girl and Bai Hui left Jiangming behind. The little town would never see them again.