Chapter 0030: Kill!

Night, silent and oppressive.

Under the night wind, the deserted street was thick with the scent of blood.

Zhang Xiaofan carried his knife, blood dripping steadily from its blade. He did not wish to kill, but found himself compelled.

His gaze hardened; his body moved like a specter, sweeping out again. To deal with these men, he had not even drawn upon the power of his martial cultivation.

Yet even so, his lethality was terrifying.

His figure moved like the wind, his blade flashed like lightning—three more fell at his hand, each with a single cut across the throat.

In the blink of an eye, six lay dead. Fear struck the rest. They were desperados, yes, but not fanatics—they would not throw themselves into certain death.

This youth, every move, every strike, was meant to kill.

They were afraid—an instinctive terror that trembled through their souls.

“Quick! Bring those two women over!” Hu Yitian panicked. If this continued, he wouldn’t need to wait for Xiaodao; all his men would be slaughtered.

Was this man human—or a demon?

He killed as if reaping wheat.

He realized, to his horror, that the person he sought to kill was a terrifying monster.

“Stop! If you move again, don’t expect those two women to live,” Hu Yitian shouted.

“Oh? Is that so?” Zhang Xiaofan’s voice was cold; the stench of blood had awakened a fierce aura in him, an aura he had not felt for three years.

“I don’t want to kill, but you force me…” In that moment, Zhang Xiaofan seemed transformed—cold, ruthless, bloodthirsty.

“I’ll give you one last chance. Release them, and I’ll leave. Otherwise, tonight I’ll turn this street into a river of blood…”

“Damn you! You’ve killed so many of my brothers, and you still think you can leave?” Hu Yitian roared. At that moment, Aunt Yun and her daughter were brought over, their mouths sealed with thick black tape, hands bound behind their backs, suffering.

“Don’t move or I’ll kill them.” Hu Yitian pressed his knife to Aunt Yun’s neck. “Drop the knife.”

Clang.

The bloody watermelon knife fell to the ground. Zhang Xiaofan dared not gamble; these men were desperate, and if Aunt Yun and Wang Yuqing died because of him, he would never find peace.

“Let them go,” Zhang Xiaofan’s voice was as cold as arctic ice.

“Let them go? Hell no. Get him!” Hu Yitian sneered. Now these two women were his lifeline, his leverage against Zhang Xiaofan.

He would never let them go, and even if he did, would this killing god let him live? Years of blood on his blade had taught him: once you act, you must eliminate all threats.

Hu Yitian gave the order, but none of his men dared approach. Staring at Zhang Xiaofan, who seemed a harbinger of death, their hearts froze.

Such a man inspired no courage, only dread.

Like moths to a flame—no matter how many, death awaited them.

“Damn it, didn’t you hear me? Anyone who’s afraid, I’ll kill! Hear me?” Hu Yitian roared, his fury mounting.

“Kill!”

His men steeled themselves and charged Zhang Xiaofan.

Those who charged blocked Hu Yitian’s view, and at that moment, a sound split the air.

A sharp hiss—he was no god; faced with several blades at once, even with his speed and a thrown silver needle, he could not evade completely. A long gash opened on his back, though it was only skin deep.

Still, blood soaked his shirt.

Again, a blade swung down at him.

These thugs were competent, their coordination impressive.

One, in his thirties, wielded formidable strength. His attack was cunning, timed perfectly.

As he reveled in the moment, thinking he would kill Zhang Xiaofan with a single stroke, he suddenly lost sight of his target—a fist shot toward his face.

A crack—the fist smashed his nasal bone with a crisp sound, shattering it.

He toppled, uncertain if he lived or died.

After that punch, another watermelon knife appeared in Zhang Xiaofan’s hand.

Just then, Hu Yitian collapsed heavily, his face frozen. In his temple, a faint silver needle could be seen.

Not a drop of blood spilled, but Hu Yitian’s life was ended.

“Boss!”

Seeing Hu Yitian fall, his remaining protectors’ expressions changed. Zhang Xiaofan discerned they were skilled fighters.

Aunt Yun and her daughter were close—he could not let anyone threaten them with a blade again.

So Zhang Xiaofan moved, faster than before, like a phantom.

A scream echoed, but Zhang Xiaofan seemed not to hear. After killing one, he drew his knife and slashed another’s throat.

Seeing Zhang Xiaofan coming, the man instinctively raised his own blade to block.

Zhang Xiaofan’s momentum did not falter; his watermelon knife hacked down on the man’s arm.

A grating crunch—the blade scraping bone.

The watermelon knife was keen, and with Zhang Xiaofan’s strength, the arm fell with one stroke, blood gushing.

He raised his foot—before the man could even cry out, a violent kick knocked him down.

Zhang Xiaofan’s body surged toward another. This one, perhaps a true elite among Hu Yitian’s men, showed no fear. He swung his blade directly at Zhang Xiaofan’s head.

Behind him, two more followed, eyes glinting with murderous intent.

If Zhang Xiaofan attacked, he would kill the first, but the other two would strike him as he drew his blade—there was no way to avoid it.

If he defended, he’d be trapped by all three.

But they underestimated Zhang Xiaofan.

At that moment, his body suddenly bent, sliding under the blade like a wheel, and the attacks from behind missed.

Meanwhile, his right leg lashed out fiercely.

A scream—the man’s agony was indescribable. Zhang Xiaofan’s kick had crushed his testicles.

He fell, clutching himself, howling in pain.

Just then, Zhang Xiaofan leaped, spun, and slashed—his blade traced a semi-circular arc, sending two blood jets flying. The two behind him died instantly.

Zhang Xiaofan sprang forward, two more strokes finished off the men beside Aunt Yun.

Only then did he relax.

He quickly cut the ropes, tore off their tape.

“Wu wu… I was so scared…” Wang Yuqing sobbed, throwing herself into Zhang Xiaofan’s arms.

“It’s alright. With me here, no one can hurt you.” Zhang Xiaofan comforted her. It was true—because of his enemies, this young girl had suffered such terror, nearly losing her life. Zhang Xiaofan felt a deep guilt.

“Aunt Yun, are you alright?” He turned to her, asking.

“I’m fine. We should hurry and leave—you’ve killed people… you need to escape…” Aunt Yun, much older, was more composed, but it was her first time seeing such carnage. Fear was inevitable.

“Let’s go.”

Zhang Xiaofan picked up Wang Yuqing and, together with Aunt Yun, walked toward the edge of the street.

Those who survived watched him with terror, shrinking back, clearing a path.

“You think you can just leave?”

As they reached the street’s end, a voice rang out, followed by a blade flashing toward Zhang Xiaofan’s throat at lightning speed.

He moved slightly—the flying knife grazed his skin. It would have been fatal, but he dodged it, even while carrying someone.

At the street corner stood a young man, his hair white, whether dyed or natural, his expression frozen. His sneak attack, his flying knife, had missed—even while his target held someone.

This man—he was no match.

“Go back and spread the word. I killed these men. If you want revenge, come find me. But if you harm anyone close to me again, I’ll teach you the meaning of terror.”

Zhang Xiaofan spoke coldly, then walked on.

The white-haired youth did not move—he dared not. He sensed his life was already marked; any movement meant death.

This was Xiaodao, the executioner Hu Yitian had mentioned, but now he had no courage to face Zhang Xiaofan.

“This man is no ordinary mortal. I must never fight him again.”

Even without Zhang Xiaofan’s warning, Xiaodao had made up his mind. He had only heard of martial cultivators, but seeing one, he realized how insignificant he was.

To fight such a man was suicide.

“Hello… Lord Long.”

Xiaodao quickly dialed a number, explaining the situation.

On the other end, after a long silence, the decision was made to let the matter drop.

As for Zhang Xiaofan’s extraordinary abilities, Aunt Yun asked no questions. He was Master Qingyun’s disciple—how could he be ordinary?

Aunt Yun worried only whether Zhang Xiaofan would be arrested and sentenced to death.

After sending Wang Yuqing and Aunt Yun home—they were ordinary people, and the shock was overwhelming—they went straight to bed.

Standing on the balcony, gazing at the brilliant starry sky, Zhang Xiaofan’s eyes were deep as the night.

After a long while, he took out his phone and dialed a long number.

“Hello, who is this?” The person on the other end was wary, seeing the unfamiliar number. Few knew this encrypted number.

“Dragon Soul, Mortal Dust,” Zhang Xiaofan said quietly.

“So it’s you… It’s been three years since we spoke…”

“Jinghai City, Uninhabited Street. Tonight I killed some people. Help me cover it up.”

“Who did you kill?”

“Those who deserved to die,” Zhang Xiaofan replied softly.

“Alright.”

…

Jinghai City—police cars had just been dispatched, but after the chief received a phone call, the operation was canceled.

Reason: Classified.