Chapter Fifty-Four: Who Has Ever Escaped Heaven’s Judgment?

Though he wished it, Yang Fan merely cast a brief glance toward the other side. Seeing that Zhou Yiyi and the others were fine, he felt reassured; with a formidable enemy before him, he dared not let his attention wander. Zhou Yiyi and her companions were facing martial artists of their own rank, but Yang Fan confronted a third-rank warrior—a level above him in cultivation.

At this moment, Yang Fan was utterly focused, his nerves taut as he faced his powerful adversary. The man in the black robe wielded an iron staff, charging forward as soon as Yang Fan landed. The staff swept broadly, threatening all around. Each time Yang Fan blocked, it was with difficulty; every clash brought crushing pressure to his arms.

Yang Fan estimated the black-robed man possessed three to five hundred pounds more strength than himself, perhaps even more, and that might not be his full power. In direct confrontation, Yang Fan was forced back step by step. When he was driven back once more, his blood surged into his arms, a mist rising as he gripped his blade with both hands and slashed at the oncoming foe.

“Breaking Through Nine Layers.”

“Strength like stone, sinews like steel, blade sharp as autumn frost—cleaving gold and jade, fierce as a tiger, one slash breaks through nine layers!”

Blood poured into the blade as Yang Fan brought it down upon the black-robed man, who raised his staff to block. With this blow, Yang Fan stepped back twice, while his opponent halted his charge and retreated one step.

Yang Fan pressed forward, swinging his blade again.

“Wind like sound, energy as still water, breath transforms all things, swift as lightning, a dragon in flight—break through nine layers and nine more!”

The second slash came, and the black-robed man blocked yet again. This time, Yang Fan did not retreat, but the black-robed man was pushed back three steps.

Seizing his advantage, Yang Fan strode forward, blade held horizontally before him, blood surging beneath his feet.

He crouched and sprang.

A flickering shadow darted ten meters.

The black robe at the enemy’s waist was torn apart.

As the blade grazed his body, the black-robed man twisted himself in an astonishing way, narrowly avoiding being sliced in two at the waist.

He turned, glaring at Yang Fan ten meters away. Though his face was hidden, fury was evident.

He had nearly lost everything in that moment.

The more he thought about it, the more anger and fear mingled within him.

Gripping his staff, the black-robed man charged at Yang Fan.

Yang Fan had already unleashed his battle techniques three times, his internal energy greatly diminished. Seeing his adversary rush at him, he managed a helpless smile, which quickly faded as he steeled himself, blade poised, unmoving, awaiting the oncoming attack.

As the black-robed man swept his staff horizontally, Yang Fan suddenly released his grip on the blade, reaching to seize the staff just before it struck his side.

Lightning crackled.

Bolts flashed around Yang Fan’s body, especially surging along the staff, glowing with purple electricity.

Just moments before, the black-robed man had scorned Yang Fan’s audacity in grabbing his weapon—now, numbness overtook him. He clung to the staff, convulsing uncontrollably.

After five seconds, Yang Fan let go, his hands bloodied by the impact’s force, and picked up his fallen blade. While the enemy was still writhing, unable to recover, Yang Fan raised his blade and brought it down on the black-robed man’s head.

In the terror-filled eyes of his foe, the head fell, blood spraying.

On the other side, Zhou Yiyi and her group were gradually finding their rhythm. Though five were only second-rank martial artists, their teamwork was overwhelming; even a hero cannot withstand numbers. Surrounded, the knife-wielding black-robed man began to falter.

When Xie Sihua shouted “Ling Tian!” and swung his staff at the enemy, a long blade pierced through the black-robed man’s chest, its tip pressing against Jiang Chao’s nose.

The black-robed man, trying to lift his blade, found his arms limp. Xie Sihua’s staff crashed down on his head, blood splattering, staining everyone.

When Xie Sihua cried “Ling Tian,” Yang Fan had darted into the circle, blade thrusting from the black-robed man’s back and exiting his chest.

Jiang Chao, staring at the blade’s tip against his nose, broke out in cold sweat, not even caring about the filth on himself.

He was certain Yang Fan had done it on purpose. At this moment, Jiang Chao was nearly in tears—Yang Fan’s grudges were sharp and small as a needle. Yesterday, he had only tried to help, not to offend.

Now, with another battle over, Yang Fan hadn’t forgotten to let Jiang Chao experience a taste of danger.

While Jiang Chao was pondering this, the others had no such thoughts.

Especially Xie Sihua.

Bent over, clutching a tree, he vomited violently.

Mu Qingshan and Jiang Xiaoyi were no better, squatting and retching uncontrollably.

Zhou Yiyi handled it somewhat better, having witnessed such scenes often. Missions were always bloody; modern martial artists grew up amidst violence.

But the sight of a head smashed open before her was still a shock. Her face was pale.

Yang Fan, meanwhile, drew his alloy blade, glaring fiercely at Xie Sihua, who had vomited nearby.

After Xie Sihua’s blow, most of the red and white matter had splattered in Yang Fan’s direction.

Yang Fan was now unrecognizable, covered in red, white, yellow—an unsightly mess.

Jiang Chao, seeing Yang Fan’s filthy state, decided to join the vomiting ranks.

Eventually, Mu Qingshan and the others stopped.

To Yang Fan, this meant they had adapted; to them, it was simply because there was nothing left to throw up.

Each face was pale, looking worse than during the fight.

Yang Fan wiped his face clean.

“Who were these two? Why attack us?” Zhou Yiyi asked, gazing at the bodies.

“Who knows?” Yang Fan looked upward. He had his suspicions; when he had chased Liu Qiang on Mount Mang, he’d encountered people dressed like this. Later, he learned they were from the Dark Realm.

But Yang Fan chose not to share this now. Besides Zhou Yiyi and himself, the others knew nothing of the Dark Realm—only that the ruins were rich in resources, unaware of the lurking dangers.

“Take photos, when we return we’ll investigate—find out who wants us dead!” Xie Sihua said, face pale.

The others agreed.

...

After a while, the group set out again.

Yet none of them felt at ease.

This mountain expedition had been full of surprises.

First the wolf pack, then the black-robed men.

Only two days in, and they had already faced several crises.

Zhou Yiyi was now grateful she had invited Yang Fan. Without him, they might have perished in the wolves’ encirclement yesterday.

Both times, Yang Fan had resolved the danger, inspiring new feelings among the group.

Modern martial artists never fight alone.

On Earth, countless cultivation academies exist, with many students and mentors; outside, the Dark Realm threatens, and in the ruins, humanity clings together—each person has comrades to rely on.

Now, as Mu Qingshan and the others watched Yang Fan’s back, they suddenly felt a sense of support.

...

The sun now hung high overhead, its rays filtering through the dense forest, dappling the mountain path.

The group was about forty li from the water source.

As they pressed on, their pace quickened, adapting to the mountain trek.

Martial artists are quick to adjust.

But their stamina was limited.

At a slightly elevated spot, they stopped to rest.

Jiang Chao heavily dropped the silver wolf carcass he carried onto the ground.

“Huff, huff—listen, I want half of this silver wolf’s body, or I quit. Whoever wants to carry it, let them!”

Sitting on the ground, Jiang Chao panted and complained, his expression full of grievance.

He truly had enough; bullied and suppressed all the way.

During the earlier battle, Yang Fan had pressed the blade right to his nose—Jiang Chao thought that was the end of it, but as they traveled, he realized how naive he’d been, underestimating Yang Fan’s pettiness.

All along, Jiang Chao carried the wolf’s corpse; any complaint, Yang Fan would come over and kick him, punch him—not hard, but it hurt his pride.

Jiang Chao felt his dignity had been shattered by Yang Fan.

Mu Qingshan and the others listened to Jiang Chao’s grumbling with amused faces, their eyes drifting between Yang Fan and Jiang Chao.

“If you don’t want to, then don’t. Put it down, Xie Sihua will carry it the rest of the way,” Yang Fan said casually, glancing at Jiang Chao.

Jiang Chao was stunned—he actually agreed? Not making him carry the corpse anymore? Had Yang Fan changed?

Jiang Chao looked confused; Xie Sihua, meanwhile, was not pleased.

“Why? I’m the rear guard—if I carry the corpse, what if something happens?” Xie Sihua protested loudly, his expression full of dissatisfaction.

Yang Fan said nothing, walked over, fists clenched.

“Smack, thud, crack!”

Yang Fan then found a spot to rest, leaving Xie Sihua with a swollen face—three punches, he barely blocked the first, the other two landed solidly.

Zhou Yiyi had meant to say something, but before she could, the commotion was over.

Xie Sihua was full of indignation—why? He hadn’t done anything to provoke Yang Fan, so why this treatment?

Mu Qingshan and the others were equally baffled, racking their brains to figure out how Xie Sihua had offended Yang Fan.

Yang Fan sat, resting contentedly—finally found an excuse to bully Old Xie. After being drenched in filth, vengeance was served.

Zhou Yiyi held her head, unable to understand. Everyone knew why Jiang Chao was bullied, but why Xie Sihua?

After about ten minutes, the group set out again. This time Jiang Chao was at the rear, while Xie Sihua carried the silver wolf corpse in the middle of the group.

His face was full of grief and indignation, with nowhere to vent.

Suddenly, Yang Fan vanished from sight.

It turned out he had tripped over a vine— a second-rank martial artist, tripped by a vine?

Everyone was dumbfounded, but in their hearts, a phrase surfaced in unison: "Good and evil will be repaid, the cycle of heaven never misses—look up, who has heaven ever spared?"

Xie Sihua nearly burst out laughing—retribution comes for the wicked, and indeed, heaven takes notice. Even the heavens couldn’t stand it anymore.

Yang Fan got up, his face full of embarrassment—a second-rank peak, tripped by a vine. Truly shameful.

He said nothing, silently continuing forward, while the others, suppressing their laughter, followed him.