Covered in blood from head to toe, his clothes torn to shreds, Zhang Ming looked like an Asura demon. In one hand, he held a corpse, glaring at his enemies from behind it with bloodthirsty eyes. His sword was soaked scarlet, dripping thick drops onto the ground. An arrow still jutted from his back, but he seemed not to notice it.

  Tu Hama’s henchmen had seen how the rookie butchered six bandits in mere seconds and didn’t dare attack first. Nervously gripping their weapons, they huddled together behind their leader. Two of them had bows drawn and aimed at Zhang Ming, but their fingers trembled too much to release the string. Out of the corner of their eyes, they noticed a crowd of villagers approaching, and their nerves frayed even more.

  “Pathetic bastards! You wanna die too?!” they yelled, but none of them dared look away from Zhang Min.

  When the villagers saw that of the two dozen mountain bandits only a handful remained, vengeance filled their hearts. Rising from their knees, they picked up weapons and advanced toward the fight. Seasoned hunters strung their bows. The uninjured women armed themselves with pitchforks and hoes. Dogs, unleashed from their chains, surrounded the strangers, growling and baring their teeth. But the true danger still radiated from Zhang Ming.

  “Why so quiet, rookie? Scared?” Tu Hama shouted — no reply. “Filthy bastard! I’ll carve out your heart and eat it!”

  Suddenly, an arrow whistled from between the houses and pierced the head of one of the bowmen. The string slipped from his dead fingers, and the arrowhead he had drawn buried itself in the dirt at Tu Hama’s feet. The bandit leader instinctively turned his head to see what happened. For only an instant he lost sight of the rookie, and when he turned back, Zhang Ming was already charging at him, using the corpse as a shield against the arrows. Expecting a collision, Tu Hama leapt aside and took a stance, but Zhang Ming hurled the body at him and, changing direction mid-stride, slammed into the remaining archer.

  A painful scream tore through the air, followed by a heavy thud as the bandit’s body flew out of the group and rolled down the road like a blood-soaked sack. Zhang Ming cut through the ranks of his enemies, ending up separated from Tu Hama by three bandits. Spinning around, he swung with all the strength left in him, cleaving the nearest one in half. Unfortunately, the dying man’s sword still caught him in the thigh.

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  “You!” Tu Hama roared and rushed forward. “Die!”

  A savage duel erupted. Two warriors of the Body Tempering Realm clashing like rabid beasts. Their blades sliced through the air with a whistle, movements too fast for the eye of an ordinary man to follow. The sword practice with shaggy old Lao Yu now proved invaluable to Zhang Ming. He held his ground confidently against the more experienced foe, and on top of that, he was faster and stronger. He now knew Tu Hama had reached only the second stage of Body Tempering, despite pretending to be an unbeatable fighter.

  The two remaining bandits never got the chance to help their leader. Within a few breaths, enraged village hunters riddled them with arrows, turning them into human pincushions. Yet the villagers didn’t dare interfere in Zhang Ming’s duel; they only exchanged nervous glances, uncertain what to do. One of the two fighters had just saved them from a fate worse than death, they couldn’t bring themselves to strike him down. Bows drawn and axes ready, they watched the brutal fight from afar.

  “Let’s end this, huh?” Tu Hama looked around as they broke apart to catch their breath. “You’ve proven your point! No need for us both to die here!”

  “No. You die like a dog here,” Zhang Ming replied.

  One of his arms hung limp at his side, sliced open by the sword; the arrow still protruded from his back, and the wound in his leg was bleeding freely. Tu Hama looked better off, but the fight had drained him, Zhang Ming’s crushing blows and relentless close combat sapped his strength, keeping him from using his swordsmanship to full effect. He’d taken a kick to the ribs and still couldn’t catch his breath. Unused to pain or hardship, Tu Hama had lost his edge. A sticky, cold feeling of fear crept through him as he realized that two dozen of his men were already dead, and he was left alone with a wounded beast.

  “Fine then! If you’re so eager to die!” the former leader bellowed and charged, only to run straight into a cloud of sand that blinded him for a heartbeat.

  Zhang Ming’s sword sang through the air, and Tu Hama’s legless body crashed to the ground. Writhing and screaming like a worm in agony, he howled at the top of his lungs. Towering above him stood Zhang Ming, drenched in blood, looking like a demon from the depths of hell. His body, torn and battered, barely held together, but his eyes still burned with feral fury from beneath the matted hair.

  “You were too greedy, bastard. If you’d killed me back in the fortress, you might’ve lived,” he finally said. “But no — that wasn’t enough for you, was it? You wanted to see me crawl before you, on my knees. Greedy, arrogant scum. Ha-ha-ha. I won’t make that mistake.”

  “A-a-a-a! No—no!” Tu Hama clawed at the ground, trying to crawl away, but the sword pinned him in place. “Nn—ghk—ghh…”

  “That’s that,” Zhang Ming muttered, lifting his head toward the sky, where peaceful clouds drifted by.