41-Cat and Mouse? No, Massacre!

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At the exit, Yun Ye was lowering his head to wipe the long sword in his hand, completely indifferent to Zhong Lin's departure and the two groups of people following behind Zhong Lin, as if nothing had happened at all.

Zhong Lin walked quickly through the dense forest, his peripheral vision sweeping over the shadowy figures behind him.

"As expected, they still came, huh? If the tiger doesn't show its might, they really think I'm a Hello Kitty." A trace of gloom flashed across Zhong Lin's face.

With a shift of his thoughts, he suddenly quickened his pace and disappeared at a fork in the path.

"Not good—he's spotted us. Chase him!"

Dong Yan from the Black Tiger Gang's expression changed. No longer bothering to conceal himself, he broke into a full sprint.

The four men behind him didn't respond verbally, but they too sped up their steps.

Dong Yan was the fastest. With his iron-tower-like height, he charged forward like a bear in the mountains, exuding an overwhelming sense of power.

The four men trailing him were only slightly slower, which showed that they were all ranked martial artists.

On the other side, Skinny Monkey led seven people, following closely behind. The eight of them varied in speed, a mixed bag of abilities.

Dong Yan chased for over a hundred meters, passing a bend, only to find that Zhong Lin's figure had vanished ahead.

His brows furrowed, and his expression grew uglier.

"Damn it, split up and chase. I refuse to believe he can ascend to the heavens!"

Whoosh! 

A piercing sound of something slicing through the air rang out. Before anyone could react, an arrow shot out from the dense forest at a strange angle.

"An arrow? What a little rat."

A savage grin spread across Dong Yan's face. He paid no mind to the incoming arrow. With his Eighth Rank cultivation, his tendons and bones were robust, his skin like armor—he no longer feared such trivial things. Unless it was an eight-stone strongbow or a divine arm crossbow, it couldn't possibly pierce his defenses.

He raised his hand to swat the arrow aside, but then the arrow defied all norms, curving in an arc right before him and shooting straight toward a short man on his left.

Thud! 

With a muffled sound and the incredulous gazes of the group, the arrow struck the short man square in the eye socket, piercing straight through his skull.

He couldn't be deader.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! 

Dong Yan's expression finally shifted. He shouted loudly, "Everyone, be careful!"

Before he finished speaking, his body twisted and shifted, his palm striking out at the incoming arrows.

A martial artist's ability to discern position by sound was exceptional. As long as they were prepared, dodging an archer's sneak attack was child's play.

The other three men, wielding knives or swords, did the same. Though the arrows could curve, it only made things slightly trickier.

Atop a distant tree, Zhong Lin set down the iron-forged bow in his hand with a hint of regret.

"As my strength increases, the effectiveness of arrows diminishes more and more."

For Ninth Rank martial artists, as long as they could avoid their weak points, ordinary arrows couldn't breach their defenses.

Eighth Rank martial artists had sturdy tendons and bones, explosive power, and heightened senses—arrows couldn't even reach them.

Zhong Lin hadn't encountered a Seventh Rank martial artist, but he figured arrows would be even less useful.

Thump! 

A faint sound came from behind Dong Yan as a tall, thin man suddenly collapsed, frothing at the mouth.

"The arrows… they're poisoned."

Only then did the group notice that the man's chest clothing had been torn open, revealing a shallow cut on his exposed skin. It must have happened unintentionally while dodging an arrow. But that cut had turned a dark cyan color, with black, foul-smelling blood oozing out.

Such potent poison.

Just a single scratch had claimed a life.

"Ah… I'll kill you!"

Dong Yan roared to the heavens, his body radiating icy killing intent. 

He had thought this would be a game of cat and mouse, but now, without even seeing his prey, he'd already lost two men.

Crash! 

Suddenly, a handful of lime powder fell from above, obscuring their vision and enveloping Dong Yan along with his remaining two men.

"Breaking Wind."

A sound of something cutting through the air rang out. With his vision blocked, Dong Yan instinctively dodged while his dark, iron-like hand shot out to grab.

The technique Dong Yan cultivated was called *Mixed Iron Palm*. More than half of his skill lay in his hands. As an Eighth Rank martial artist with five hundred pounds of strength, paired with those iron palms, splitting stone and cracking monuments was effortless.

Though his sight was obstructed, Dong Yan had already pinpointed Zhong Lin's location by sound. A ferocious grin curled his lips as he exerted force.

"Come die for me!"

But in an instant, his expression changed drastically. He felt a force from his opponent's hand that was not the least bit weaker than his own. In that moment, he couldn't move, and his once-steady breathing grew ragged.

"You're also Eighth Rank? So fragrant… it's poisoned, you despicable—"

As Dong Yan was thinking of a counter, he suddenly caught a whiff of a sweet scent. Then his head spun, and he realized the lime powder had been laced with something like a sedative fragrance.

Crack! 

With the sound of snapping bones, Zhong Lin broke Dong Yan's right arm outright.

Even so, Zhong Lin didn't relent. With a flick of his wrist, the blade of his ghost-head saber flashed. A streak of white light passed, and Dong Yan's head soared into the air. A spray of blood, like a white ribbon, shot from his neck, flying several feet before splattering to the ground.

By now, the lime powder had settled, and everyone's vision began to clear. But the first thing they saw upon opening their eyes was their leader's head, staring lifelessly.

"Boss Dong!"

The two remaining men cried out in shock, their hearts now filled with terror. Yet they didn't forget the danger before them.

Zhong Lin swung his ghost-head saber, blood dripping along the groove. Without pausing, he strode forward.

The last two men were already scared witless. Even their Eighth Rank boss Dong had been decapitated—where would they find the courage to stay and fight? They turned and fled.

But after just a couple of steps, they felt dizzy, their limbs growing weak.

"Poison."

Zhong Lin approached with his ghost-head saber in hand, a faint, mocking smile on his face. "I'm a medicine seller who makes some poison—what's wrong with that? Isn't that perfectly normal?"

Slash! 

The blade flashed, another head flew, and blood sprayed.

The last remaining man's face was full of terror, his mouth pleading incessantly, "Spare me… spare me… I have silver, let me live…"

Zhong Lin didn't even bother responding. Another swing, another hefty head.

The world fell silent.

"Idiots. If I kill you, the silver's mine anyway," Zhong Lin muttered.

He bent down, wiped his blood-stained hands on the man's clothes, and stood up cleanly.

The entire ordeal had been a one-sided massacre from start to finish, lasting no more than a few dozen breaths. Yet behind it lay countless simulations.

Zhong Lin had scouted this stretch of terrain countless times—where to hide, where to ambush, where to escape, where to set a trap…

All of these were the result of his repeated explorations and planning.

"Either I don't act, or I wipe them all out. If you won't let me live, then I'll make sure you die first."

Zhong Lin's voice was low, brimming with coldness.

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