Chapter Fifty-Five: The Plot

Axes and blades flashed, heads crashed into knees, teeth tore into flesh—every method of violence unleashed without restraint. The White Dragon Bandit was a seasoned criminal, while the Bald Bandit was a fierce outlaw of the waters. One exuded a menacing aura, the other had survived a hundred battles. Blade met axe, neither yielding; an arm was hacked off, blood gushed forth, yet with a mad cackle, the axe-wielder thrust and wrenched his weapon, sending entrails and organs spilling to the ground. Another, both legs shattered, gripped tight and sank his yellowed teeth into his foe’s hamstring with a sickening crunch...

On the Sandbird Tower Ship, only a handful of martial heroes remained. Though these exalted figures of the martial world were formidable killers, they too found themselves exhausted against the relentless onslaught of dozens—hundreds—of fearless bandits who fought with no regard for their own lives. For all their martial prowess, they were but human, and human strength has its limits. Even those as strong and ferocious as tigers or leopards could not withstand the bandits’ swarm-like assault. Thus, even as these heroes wrought carnage across the centipede ships, the scales of victory slowly tipped against them.

Wang Hu’s iron palms struck, smashed, pushed, and jabbed—every blow twisted sinew and shattered bone, and he could even meet blades and axes head-on. Alone, he held off scores of water bandits attacking the ship’s stern, fearless in their ferocity. With the root force of his left palm, gathering the essence of his blood, he struck a bandit’s abdomen—a puff of blue smoke rose, and the bandit felt as though fire consumed his insides, writhing in agony before collapsing, his belly charred black. Wang Hu’s palm techniques were broad and unrestrained, unmatched in momentum. For a moment, the fifty or sixty men before him dared not advance.

But the bandits, bloodthirsty and unafraid of death, hesitated only briefly before charging anew, fighting with reckless abandon, trading life for life. Wang Hu was forced back step by step, his robe stained with blood. Yet his towering frame suddenly seemed to shrink; two bandits, momentarily stunned, then alarmed and in pain, felt their chests burst as Wang Hu’s fists punched through them, flesh and blood flying. The twenty-seventh stance of the Raging Wave Palm—Ground-Compressing Sudden Strike. Even so, these two were fierce men; in their final moments, abandoning their weapons, they seized Wang Hu’s arms with desperate strength. The others, seeing this, piled on like monks stacking atop one another. Wang Hu now seemed to wrestle a giant entity of thirty or forty men, neither side able to move. The bald bandits at the flanks exchanged glances, bent low, and with daggers in hand, crept silently forward—

Even with the strength of a thousand pounds, Wang Hu could no longer break free. He braced his legs in the stance of the Vajra Pillar, blood and energy surging through him, his face flushed red as a date, a faint white steam rising from his crown, knees slowly bending.

The two bandits saw their chance and advanced with blades drawn—

At the brink of life and death, Wang Hu’s heart thundered within his chest—BOOM, BOOM, BOOM—his limbs suddenly swelled, his clothes tearing, demonic in appearance. With a roar like a tiger descending the mountain, his voice shook the air; blood streamed from the ears, noses, and mouths of his foes. Summoning all his life’s strength, Wang Hu wrenched and tore, splitting two men from head to toe, viscera and intestines scattering. The dozen before him heard the crack of their bones as their hands lost all strength, and nearly ten more behind were shoved into the river—

Wang Hu, fierce as a tiger—never was a name so true!

Just then, a sword-light snaked out like a venomous serpent, stabbing at Wang Hu’s back. At that precise moment when his momentum waned, the pitch-black blade kissed his spine. Every hair on Wang Hu’s body stood on end; with the reflexes of a startled cat, he dove and rolled forward, barely evading the strike. Still, pain flared across his back—a ghastly gash running from shoulder to waist. The mysterious assailant moved to strike again, when suddenly a long, piercing cry rang out—

“How dare you!”

In that instant, it felt as though countless blades pressed all over his body—a sensation that vanished as quickly as it came. The chance to strike again was lost; the assailant could only sigh inwardly, his heart chilled—

Sword intent?!

At that moment, the cabin door burst open and more than a dozen White Dragon-marked bandits rushed to fill the breach. At their head, Wu Zhang, frowned—

“One of the four great pirates under the Sea-Cleansing King—Viper Sword, Xia Ziyi?!”

The sinister-faced man gave a cold laugh. “Master Wu, it’s been fifteen years since we parted after the Battle of Lake Tai, has it not?”

“The four pirates always act together. Where are the other three?” Wu Zhang’s face darkened.

Before he finished, a thunderous crash sounded at the bow—Old Stone was hurled against the upper deck, sending cracks through its dragon and phoenix carvings.

“Central Plains men are truly arrogant! Is such strength worthy of being called the mightiest in the land?” boasted a grotesque figure—golden beard, aquiline nose, blue eyes, and bulging muscles.

“Brute Arey!” Wu Zhang muttered. “A savage indeed!”

“Hand over the Western Sea Dragon King!” rasped a gaunt old man dressed as a southern sorcerer.

A shrill blade-light slashed at Wu Zhang, but was parried by Ghostmaster’s sword-sheath. The attacker twisted his knife, the gleam turning from bright to dim, and with a flick of a mechanism, a jet of foul black water shot from the blade toward Zhou Qian’s face—nowhere to dodge!

Fortunately, the swordsman was Zhou Qian—the Young Sword Immortal. His sword flashed, pouring down like moonlight, spreading like liquid silver. With a flick and a twist, he sent the droplets of poison rebounding straight back. The dagger-wielder was stunned, never imagining such a sword technique, nor that his infallible move would fail him! He fumbled, but Zhou Qian remained steady, his sword poised unerringly at the man’s heart.

Zhou Qian’s sword was not fast, but unwavering—his grip as steady as a rock. To the attacker, the blade seemed impossibly slow, yet inescapable, as if the world had vanished and only this one, unique strike remained.

The dagger-man realized this was sword momentum—true mastery, where sword intent bends the heart. Biting his tongue, the taste of blood cleared his mind. He twisted his blade, clashing steel with Zhou Qian. But as he parried, he neglected the rebounding poison; two or three drops splattered his left arm.

A curl of blue smoke rose; before his eyes, the flesh of his left arm began to melt away. Grimacing, he slashed backward, severing his arm completely.

“Hold your hand!” came a steady voice from within the cabin. Though the knife-wielder’s eyes flashed with malice, he dared not disobey.

A young man emerged from the cabin, unremarkable in appearance, yet emanating a tidal force of presence.

“Sea Beast Chen Si! Excellent! All four great pirates are here! And with dozens of centipede ships besides, it seems Lord Sea-Cleansing King has wagered everything this time!” Wu Zhang’s face was grim.

“Brother Wu, though we serve different masters, I have long admired your cunning and valor. A wise bird chooses its tree—if the Western Sea Dragon King erred this time, can he blame you? If you hand over Wang Zhi’s head, I’ll find you a place under our shipmaster,” Chen Si replied courteously.

“My life belongs to the Dragon King. To ask me to betray my lord is mere fantasy!” Wu Zhang scoffed. “Besides, the Dragon King is not aboard! Your calculations are wrong!”

“Oh? Then why has my master, the Sea-Cleansing King, received word of Wang Zhi’s secret return to the Central Plains? And who else could command the Dragon King’s flagship, the Sandbird Tower Ship?” Chen Si smiled.

What a treacherous scheme! Wu Zhang and Zhou Qian exchanged glances, the same thought flashing in their minds.