Chapter 55: Two Choices? Advanced Self-Created Secrets?

After Alan's words fell, the surrounding thieves took a step back in unison, panic written all over their faces.

Are you kidding? Even an upper-level Sword God Stream fighter lost. How are we supposed to handle this?!

One of the thieves, who was only a lower-level practitioner of the Sword God Style, realized he was no match. Hiding behind others, he quietly turned around and tried to run.

But the moment he turned, a sharp whistle cut through the air behind him. The wind exploded past his ears—and then, in the corner of his vision, something flashed and disappeared into the woods ahead.

He froze.

A cold sensation spread through his chest, followed by the sound of water splashing to the ground.

He turned his head instinctively and found the horrified faces of his comrades staring at him.

Confused, he looked down.

A jet of blood was gushing from his chest. His proud chest muscles were gone—replaced by a massive, gaping hole.

He coughed, blood and pieces of organ spraying from his lips. With effort, he turned to face the crowd.

His vision was fading, the faces of his companions blurring.

But one thing was crystal clear—the distant figure of a boy standing calmly in a throwing stance, palm extended. When Alan saw him looking over, he smiled.

His vision went black.

Plop.

His body collapsed to the ground like a ragdoll.

Everyone turned their eyes from the fresh corpse to the source of the attack—the Northern God Style throwing technique practitioner who had just killed with a flick of the hand.

Alan slowly withdrew his open palm. The sword he had thrown—taken from the now-dead thief—was gone. A faint green light shimmered briefly across his body, barely noticeable.

The night wind blew chaotically, but his voice rang out, clear and cold.

"I need to remind you all—tonight, you have only two choices."

"One: Kneel down and be killed."

"Two: Kill me."

"Before that..."

Alan swept his gaze across the stunned crowd, raising the knife in his hand and letting the blade catch the firelight. He aimed it past their heads, straight at the ugly face of the Leopard at the rear.

"No one leaves."

"So, my suggestion is—come all at once."

He licked the blood on his face with his tongue, his eyes narrowing.

"I'm in a hurry."

The clearing fell into utter silence.

The thieves looked around, awkwardly frozen in place.

Behind the crowd, Grey Eagle and the Leopard locked eyes in unspoken communication. In the darkness, they read the same unease on each other's faces.

Grey Eagle took a deep breath, ready to shout something—

But a gust of wind obscured his voice.

The Leopard moved!

Wind and sand exploded from under his feet as he shot forward and leapt high!

His blade drew a glowing arc under the campfire's light, cutting through the wind as it came crashing down toward Alan!

Perception.

Alan raised his head and chuckled.

The forest fell silent.

The thieves hadn't even had time to react—the Leopard descended like a wild beast, both hands gripping his sword!

The blade gleamed in Alan's pupils.

Northern God Style: Counter-Cut Form One – Avalanche Fall.

Practical style: fast overhead slashes, fighting spirit concentrated in the blade, area-of-effect burst.

The Leopard's grip... is shifting? Is the technique poorly mastered? Or a feint?

These thoughts flickered through Alan's mind in an instant.

The Leopard's wind pressure slammed against Alan—

But just before the blade could strike Alan's neck—

Clang!

Alan's own blade was already raised, perfectly intercepting the strike midair.

The Leopard's eyes lit up with admiration—and then—

Bang!

His blade was knocked aside.

But he had already let go.

The Leopard abandoned his weapon in midair, twisted, and dropped to the ground like a beast, all fours skidding across the gravel.

In the same instant, a cold gleam flashed—

A dagger slid toward Alan's ribs!

Before he could stab, the Leopard's face twisted. He flipped backward with both hands on the ground, abandoning his weapon once more.

Crack!

A sharp hissing noise rang out.

The dagger was smashed into fragments—nailed to the ground by Alan's backhand.

Alan slowly pulled his blade from the debris and glanced over his shoulder.

The Leopard had already retreated to a safe distance and casually grabbed a new weapon from a nearby accomplice. Though disheveled, a smirk played on his lips.

"I thought your so-called self-created secret technique had improved. So I tested it out."

"Turns out you intentionally interrupted the Water God secret and switched into a Sword God wrist drop to stab my hand—but you're still too slow."

Alan smiled casually.

"Avalanche Fall? Nothing special. The four-legged stance is a bit interesting though. But people who obsess over Qiba Style can't truly appreciate the essence of practical combat. I suggest you stick to dog-paddling."

The Leopard's smile faded. Resentment glinted in his eyes.

"That doesn't match the rumored image of a silent killer. You're rather rude."

Alan blinked.

"You too."

The Leopard, tone exaggerated and raised for all to hear, continued:

"You can counterattack me alone with your Interruption Stream Secret, but what if we all attack together? Still going to counter every strike?"

He didn't wait for a reply.

The Leopard shouted:

"You all saw what just happened, right?! He's good at defense, but his counterattacks are slow! He doesn't even know the Silent Sword! If we all attack at once, he's finished! Afterward, we split a thousand gold coins and go celebrate in Rigate!"

The thieves, many of whom practiced Northern God or Sword God Styles, began to nod internally.

They had seen how Alan seemed to wait for enemies to charge at him. His taunts now seemed like a tactic to bait them.

Under the lure of gold, their fear twisted into justification—

He only won because that one guy's Silent Sword was mediocre.

Sure, a few might die… but I won't be the unlucky one.

As long as I'm careful, the reward is ours!

The spark of greed reignited their courage.

The Leopard, seeing the shift, quietly retreated further behind the group, shielding himself as he exchanged a glance with Grey Eagle.

Alan watched the whole performance with an amused smile.

He said nothing—he welcomed it.

If this were before, Alan might not have been able to defeat so many in a single night. At most, he'd rely on superior fighting spirit, fighting a guerrilla battle to wear them down in the forest.

Like at the Red Dragon's upper jaw ambush.

But this forest wasn't far from town.

If even a few escaped, things could get complicated.

But this time... things had changed.

Swordsmanship had advanced.

His healing magic pattern had matured.

And—

His self-created secret technique…

Had evolved.