Chapter Thirty-Seven: Between Life and Death

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Thick clouds blanketed the sky, pressing the dawn’s eastern light into a dim, narrow band. The howling wind carried fine snowflakes, swirling them through the air and lending the shadowy mountains an even colder, more desolate solitude.

Gao Wu practiced his sword in the wind. The snowflakes had no chance to settle on him; the force he generated swept them away before they could land. He ran through the sixty-four forms of the Wandering Dragon Sword ten times in succession. His entire body steamed with white mist, and his sword hand trembled from exhaustion.

Swinging a sword weighing nearly twenty kilograms with full force, maintaining both power and control, and with added weights strapped to his body—this demanded a physique of the highest order. To practice the sword style ten times consecutively at such intensity, only his superhuman constitution and the protection of the Azure Dragon Spiritual Incantation, which prevented his body from wearing down, allowed him to train so fiercely without restraint.

Sheathing his sword, Gao Wu let out a long breath; the white vapor shot out two meters like an arrow before twisting away in the whistling wind. He felt the surging blood and energy within him, and silently recited the Azure Dragon Spiritual Incantation. The azure dragon formed of spiritual light soared within him, calming the raging blood, relaxing his tingling, swollen muscles and weary bones, and sweeping away his mental fatigue. Instantly, he felt invigorated.

Experiencing the miraculous effects of the Azure Dragon Spiritual Incantation from inside out, Gao Wu couldn't help but feel proud. In terms of raw strength, agility, and spirit, he might not be the strongest, but with the incantation’s blessing, he could outlast any peer in the ring through sheer attrition.

At this level, he was already a superhuman in the eyes of ordinary people.

Today was competition day. In such fine form, he should be able to defeat Han Yang, the top student fighter at Dongjiang No. 1 High School!

Just as Gao Wu was reveling in his condition, a strange sound came from behind. Instinctively alert, he turned quickly and saw a tall figure striding toward him, gripping a sword.

The figure was dressed in a black hoodie, face obscured by hood and mask, but the exposed eyes burned with a mad, savage red light.

Gao Wu had seen such eyes before—at fourteen, he’d glimpsed them in the frenzied gaze of a slaughtering beast. The memory was seared into him.

He had a hunch that this sudden intruder had come for him.

"Hey, good morning." Gao Wu gripped his sword hilt and took a defensive stance, but still greeted the stranger with a bright, polite smile, even baring his white teeth.

"Gao Wu, you deserve to die!" The tall man’s voice was both shrill and rough, like a beast’s roar.

"Why does that sound familiar?"

The man’s face was hidden and his voice distorted, but Gao Wu felt a sense of familiarity—he should know this person. Judging by the figure and gait, this was a high-level martial artist, and someone he knew; that narrowed it down considerably.

"Brother Zhang!" Gao Wu’s mind flashed, and he recognized him.

They ate together every day, and though they rarely spoke, Gao Wu remembered Zhang Hao well. The change in Zhang was dramatic—his body had doubled in size, his voice was bizarre—it was no wonder he hadn’t recognized him at first glance.

Zhang Hao was surprised too—despite his transformation, Gao Wu still recognized him. With a snarl, Zhang Hao ripped off his mask and cursed, "You little bastard, I’ll let you die knowing why!"

"Brother Zhang, what’s wrong with you?" Gao Wu asked in confusion. The man was acting deranged, brandishing his sword—what was he planning?

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He wasn’t naïve; Zhang Hao knew Gao Wu, and killing him would undeniably implicate himself. They had no real enmity—why would Zhang Hao risk everything to murder him? It made no sense.

Looking closer, Gao Wu saw Zhang Hao’s swollen, purplish-red face, covered in pustules and rotting skin, hideous as a toad’s, his original features lost.

Gao Wu guessed he’d injected some kind of drug, causing mental instability, though Zhang Hao seemed to retain some lucidity…

"Still pretending, you little bastard!" Zhang Hao, already agitated, flew into a rage at this.

He’d followed Tie Dalong for years, hoping to become his disciple, but Gao Wu had snatched that chance away. How could he not be furious? The Tie Long Martial Hall was small, with limited resources; if Gao Wu took them, nothing would be left for him.

Thus, he’d chosen another path. The power he’d gained from the sacrifice was wild and destructive, putting his body on the brink of collapse. He knew he didn’t have long to live in this state.

The more he thought about it, the angrier he became—it was all Gao Wu’s fault. After killing Gao Wu, he’d go after Tie Ying, that revolting fat woman.

He and Gao Wu often ate together, so he knew Gao Wu came to White Dragon Mountain every day to practice. He’d timed it perfectly and caught him.

In this wilderness, killing Gao Wu would go unnoticed for a while.

"Brother Zhang, something’s wrong with you," Gao Wu said with concern. "Why not see a doctor?"

"Great White Crow King, I offer this man’s blood and life as a sacrifice—grant me your blessing!" Zhang Hao suddenly chanted loudly, his red eyes growing fiercer, his muscles swelling, his body expanding yet again.

Gao Wu’s heart tightened—Zhang Hao had clearly pledged himself to a demon god. This was dire.

"Die!" Finished with the chant, Zhang Hao lost all reason, roaring as he drew his sword and charged.

In this state, Zhang Hao was ferocious and reckless, wielding his sword with perfect form—the opening move of the Wandering Dragon Sword’s Stone-Splitting Strike.

At the martial artist level, the Wandering Dragon Sword was just a high-level technique, no secret. As an assistant instructor at the martial hall, Zhang Hao naturally knew it, as did any student who’d paid the high tuition.

Of course, the version personally taught by Tie Dalong had more subtle variations. The way Zhang Hao charged with his sword, Gao Wu could tell he hadn’t received Tie Dalong’s true teaching.

The problem was, Zhang Hao’s mad, fearless demeanor was terrifying. Even with slightly better swordsmanship, Gao Wu wasn’t confident he could block his attack.

Swords were unlike fists or kicks—a blow could be fatal. However strong his body, it couldn’t withstand a sharp blade.

Given Zhang Hao’s brute strength, any wound could be deadly.

The threat of death clenched Gao Wu’s heart like an invisible fist; he couldn’t breathe, his body tensed, and in his mind flashed the memory of facing a beast at fourteen.

Then, he’d nearly been killed by a beast summoned by a cultist, the terror of death scarring him deeply.

Now, faced with mortal danger, that old wound split open, and fear seized him completely.

Gao Wu knew this was a primal fear of death.

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But he was grown now, and had the Infinite Merit Tome. He couldn’t afford to be weak and useless as he’d been four years ago—he would not repeat that mistake.

The beast deserved death; the demon god’s followers deserved it even more.

At this thought, Gao Wu’s blood surged, his fighting spirit blazing—he would shatter the nightmare lurking in his heart with his own hands.

With an agility rating of nine, his thoughts and reactions were five times faster than ordinary people.

In this heightened state, Zhang Hao’s movements seemed to slow to a crawl in Gao Wu’s eyes. Observing him thus, Gao Wu realized that while Zhang Hao was strong, he was much less agile.

From Zhang Hao’s stance and the way he exerted force, his technique still had clear flaws; his body coordination was lacking. After years of practice, he was still at this level—no wonder Tie Dalong had never favored him.

Zhang Hao, meanwhile, thought of nothing but destruction. The sacrificial ritual had boosted his strength by at least seventy percent. One strike would be enough to slice Gao Wu in two.

They were barely ten meters apart; in an instant, Zhang Hao closed the distance, raising his sword high and slashing at Gao Wu with a diagonal strike.

This was the Stone-Splitting Sword, the most ferocious move in the Wandering Dragon Sword technique. Wielding his immense strength, the blade whistled through the air with a wind-and-thunder roar, truly seeming strong enough to split stone and sever metal.

Gao Wu saw Zhang Hao’s exposed chest as he lifted his sword, and suppressed the urge to lunge straight in. Zhang Hao was out of his mind, and his body had visibly mutated.

Mastery of the Wandering Dragon Sword gave Gao Wu a deeper understanding of combat, allowing him to control the rhythm.

If he struck now but failed to bring Zhang Hao down, he would have to face the full force of that Stone-Splitting strike.

The risk was too great.

At this critical moment, Gao Wu became extraordinarily calm, assessing the fight and abandoning reckless plans.

He noticed Zhang Hao’s sword was barely a meter long. Judging by the cloudy patterns on the blade, it was his usual training sword, weighing less than five kilos, made of ordinary steel.

Forged in one piece, the sword had decent hardness and flexibility; in Zhang Hao’s hands, it would be deadly enough.

But it was far inferior to Gao Wu’s own weapon.

Instantly, Gao Wu made his move—gripping his sword with both hands, he slashed back at Zhang Hao’s blade.

The two swords clashed, sparks flying with a crisp metallic ring. Zhang Hao’s sword snapped in the middle, half the blade spinning away.

At the same time, the two men brushed past each other, each swinging in reverse.

Zhang Hao’s broken blade grazed Gao Wu’s back, while Gao Wu’s sword, shrieking through the air, cut upward from Zhang Hao’s armpit, carving a crimson line from chest to neck…

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