Chapter Fifty-Three: Encounter with the Black Robe Again

The group traveled for quite some time before returning to the water source where they had been besieged by the wolf pack.

The place was still drenched in the stench of blood.

Remnants of wild wolf carcasses littered the area, and Yang Fan, without a hint of politeness, ordered Jiang Chao—who had just set down the silver wolf’s corpse—to clean up the mess.

Jiang Chao’s face was full of discontent. Why is it always me? What did I ever do to deserve this? Did I save the wrong person?

He was about to protest, but one look at Yang Fan’s unfriendly gaze made him swallow his words. Sometimes you just have to accept when the situation is beyond your control.

He certainly didn’t want another bruised eye to match the first.

Yang Fan sat by the shore, wiping his long blade. Soon after, he leapt into the water to wash away the grime from his body.

Night had fallen. After cleaning themselves, everyone settled down to rest—except for Jiang Chao.

Jiang Chao sat alone on a boulder by the water’s edge, his two blackened eyes wide open, on the verge of tears. In his heart he cursed, “Yang Fan is inhuman, an exploiter, a tyrant—he picks one person and bullies them to death.”

As everyone was preparing to rest, Yang Fan announced that someone needed to keep watch through the night. After a “fair” vote, the result was five to one: Jiang Chao was on guard duty.

The way the vote went, with Yang Fan’s pointed looks, Jiang Chao didn’t even dare to meet anyone’s eyes. Mu Qingshan and the others all gave in to Yang Fan’s intimidating presence.

All he’d done was question the fairness of the vote, and Yang Fan’s fist had come down without hesitation.

Now he was truly a panda, both eyes blackened and perfectly symmetrical.

Stifling his resentment, Jiang Chao swore he would never be so foolish again. Even if Yang Fan was being eaten by wild beasts, he would never throw his spear for him. That bastard couldn’t tell good from bad, right from wrong.

Time drifted by and soon, it was midnight.

Jiang Chao was dozing off. After a long day’s march and fighting wolves, and now having to stand watch, even as a second-rank martial artist, he was utterly exhausted.

Just then, a large hand landed on his shoulder.

Jiang Chao turned and saw Yang Fan’s face, instantly breathing a sigh of relief.

Then indignation welled up—this bastard bullied him during the day and now came to startle him at night. Was there no end to it?

But before Jiang Chao could speak, Yang Fan said first, “You call this keeping watch? I’ve been standing behind you for who knows how long, and you didn’t notice a thing. If I were an enemy, you’d have lost your head a dozen times over!”

Jiang Chao’s open mouth snapped shut. He had to admit, the man had a point—he had no retort.

“Enough, go get some sleep. I’ll take over.”

With that, Yang Fan sat down cross-legged and waved him off.

Jiang Chao was both surprised and delighted. The bastard finally grew a conscience.

He hurried off, afraid Yang Fan might change his mind, and found a place to rest.

He truly was spent.

He had barely lain down when Yang Fan heard his snores.

Yang Fan looked up at the star-studded sky, reflecting on the day’s battles.

He knew he could have done better.

But, to be honest, the sight of so many wolves had made him nervous. If he’d had any other choice, he’d never have fought the pack head-on—getting hurt was painful, and a serious wound could mean death.

Yang Fan knew himself well. By the standards of cultivators the world over, he was doubtless a selfish man. He’d never dreamed of saving the world—he only wanted to save himself.

He was not as noble as Headmaster Zhang, who could guard the ruins, nor as fearless as those top-tier warriors who fought life-and-death battles with denizens of the Dark Realm.

To this day, Yang Fan’s rule had been never to do anything unless he was sure of success.

A lack of certainty meant accidents; accidents meant unpredictability. And unpredictable things, in Yang Fan’s eyes, simply weren’t worth the risk.

Looking at his classmates sleeping soundly around him, Yang Fan again wondered why he practiced martial arts at all.

Caressing his long blade, Yang Fan murmured, “I just want to survive. If possible, I’d like to live a little better.”

He had never forgotten what the old dean had told him: “Live well.”

The mountain nights were cold. The wind swept the lake, and moonlight danced on its surface.

...

February 25, 2019

At first light, Zhou Yiyi and the others tidied up and set out on their journey again.

Today’s destination was still a hundred li away.

Yang Fan took the lead, as the strongest among them, breaking the path.

Xie Sihua brought up the rear, while Zhou Yiyi and the others clustered in the middle.

No one spoke much along the way.

Before they knew it, they had left the first water source more than forty li behind.

Along the way, they encountered barely any wildlife—not even the most common game of the mountains.

“Something’s off. We’ve covered so much ground, yet haven’t seen a thing,” Yang Fan said, frowning as he walked.

“Hey, what are you worried about?” Mu Qingshan, panting, raised his eyebrows behind him. “Would you only be happy if we ran into another pack of wolves?”

“You don’t get it. In the mountains, unless there’s a huge group, animals won’t flee. For a small party like ours, if we don’t encounter snakes, bugs, or rodents causing trouble, something’s wrong.”

Yang Fan shot Mu Qingshan a look of disdain.

Just as he thought—this guy really was hopeless.

“Enough arguing. Let’s all be careful. I sense it too—something’s not right. It’s too quiet. The Great Ten-Thousand Mountains are no joke, and for such a vast forest to be this silent is unsettling,” Zhou Yiyi said, drawing her sword.

Seeing Zhou Yiyi so alert, the others tightened their grips on their weapons as well.

They pushed on, everyone’s nerves taut. In these mountains, accidents were to be expected. Caution never hurt.

“Watch out!”

Yang Fan shouted, his long blade slashing through the air.

Clang!

An arrow struck his blade and fell to the ground.

Before the others behind Yang Fan could react, a second arrow flew toward them.

Yang Fan raised his blade and blocked it again.

As the second arrow hit the ground, the group finally snapped to attention, weapons raised defensively.

Then came the third, fourth, and fifth arrows.

With the aid of his mutated eyes, Yang Fan intercepted the remaining arrows with precision.

But the more arrows he blocked, the grimmer his face became.

The force behind each arrow was immense.

Each clash sent a jolt through him. Their attacker was no weaker than he was—definitely a second-rank martial artist at the peak.

When Yang Fan blocked the fifth arrow, a black shadow flashed to his left.

A cold gleam swept down at him.

Yang Fan, having just parried the arrows, was spent—he couldn’t raise his blade in time. Suddenly, a broad-backed saber intercepted the blow, shielding Yang Fan.

With a clang, Jiang Xiaoyi was sent tumbling, her hands bleeding, her face flushed.

A single blow, and the second-rank martial artist Jiang Xiaoyi was thrown aside.

Her intervention gave Yang Fan just enough time. He drew his alloy blade back to his chest, blood surging, and swung at the shadow.

Thunderclap Saber Technique—one sequence, three slashes, followed by two more.

The shadow’s staff spun back defensively.

Five saber strikes landed on the staff in a heartbeat.

As the first strike fell, a sword shot from the darkness, aimed straight at Yang Fan’s head.

Zhou Yiyi, closest to Yang Fan, stepped in, blocking to his left. Her sword met the arrow mid-flight.

The moment sword met arrow, Zhou Yiyi staggered back two steps, crashing into Yang Fan; the arrow fell, but her arm trembled uncontrollably.

Yang Fan, just finishing his five-strike combo, was knocked off balance by Zhou Yiyi. In that instant, the shadow flicked his staff, bringing it down toward Yang Fan’s head.

At that moment, Xie Sihua charged from the rear to Yang Fan’s side.

Her heavy staff met the shadow’s staff head-on, with Mu Qingshan’s sword following.

The three weapons clashed.

Mu Qingshan and Xie Sihua both staggered back several steps.

Yang Fan, holding Zhou Yiyi, swung his long blade horizontally as the others clashed.

The shadow, repelling Xie Sihua and the others, retreated with a leap, evading Yang Fan’s blade.

The shadow halted, no longer attacking.

Yang Fan and the others stood, weapons at the ready, facing the opponents.

Black clothes, black robes.

Yang Fan’s face twitched.

“People of the Dark Realm?”

“Who are you? Why did you ambush us?” Zhou Yiyi demanded angrily.

The black-robed figure gave no reply, simply leaning on his staff and watching them.

At that moment, another figure emerged behind him.

Also cloaked in black, this one held a large bow.

Clearly, he had fired the earlier arrows.

He tossed aside the bow and drew a thick-backed saber from his back—very much like Jiang Xiaoyi’s.

Suddenly, the two black-robed figures charged at Yang Fan and his group.

This time, Yang Fan was ready.

He held his blade in reverse, slashing forward in an instant.

He shouted, “The one with the staff is mine! The one with the saber—he’s yours!”

Even as the words left his lips, Yang Fan was already in close combat with the two.

His long blade cleaved down on the staff-wielding black-robed figure.

The man’s aura surged.

Both hands instantly wreathed in a faint green energy.

“Third rank?”

Yang Fan was shocked.

A third-rank warrior—when they first crossed blades, he’d shown no sign of it; Yang Fan had assumed he was only at the peak of the second rank.

With a single exchange, Yang Fan was forced back five steps; the staff-wielding foe stood unmoved.

The saber-wielder pressed in then, and Yang Fan, still off-balance, could only block hastily, retreating three more steps.

Only now did Zhou Yiyi and the others join the fray.

Seeing Xie Sihua and the others engaging the saber-wielder, Yang Fan felt a wave of helplessness.

He knew these people couldn’t be relied on. Sure enough, their reaction was abysmally slow. He’d already fought the enemy twice before they even moved.

But now was no time to scold them—the staff-wielding black-clad enemy was charging right at him.

Yang Fan braced himself and leapt, bringing his long blade down with all his strength, blood energy surging and a faint red mist rising from his arms.

The man’s staff swept up from below. At the moment blade met staff, Yang Fan understood what it meant to face a third rank.

No matter how strong a second-rank fighter, there was a vast gulf between them and the third rank.

Moreover, the staff in the black-robed man’s hands was clearly no ordinary weapon—it had to be an alloy weapon, and of a grade at least equal to Yang Fan’s F-grade alloy blade.

Such a fierce collision didn’t even break it, proof of its high quality.

Meanwhile, Jiang Chao, who had just gotten up, was knocked down again. Xie Sihua unleashed her Ling Tian Staff Technique, and Zhou Yiyi coordinated with her, barely managing to tie up the second-rank black-robed peak warrior. Mu Qingshan and Jiang Xiaoyi struggled with sword and saber.

Five second-rank fighters barely managed to hold off a single peak second-rank opponent. Yang Fan realized he truly needed to reevaluate his team’s fighting capabilities.