Chapter 111: Sword Intent at Will

Half an hour later, He Chang’an struggled to sit up from the ground. He fumbled for a handful of pills, stuffing them into his mouth and chewing them haphazardly before swallowing with a grimace.

A sixth-rank martial warrior was incredibly difficult to kill.

Even though he had tricked the opponent earlier, blowing off one of his arms, he still had to fight fiercely for a long time before finally reducing him to dust.

As for Hei Da’s soul, it was not wasted in the slightest. The moment his physical body was shattered by He Chang’an, it was swallowed whole by that ghostly artifact.

He Chang’an looked inward, into his dantian and spiritual sea. Above the calm heart lake, a small black sword floated leisurely. On the blade, the faint silhouette of a Sky-Swallowing Ape appeared and vanished.

Behind the little black sword trailed a small cyan banner, like a tiny attendant.

He Chang’an’s expression turned odd, and he muttered in his heart. Having finally killed someone and taken treasure, he had obtained a soul-calling banner, yet it had somehow become this thing’s subordinate.

He tried to manipulate the “ghostly artifact,” but awkwardly found that it utterly ignored him.

After several attempts, he still couldn’t control it, and could only let it trail behind the little black sword, gathering dust.

This life-and-death battle had cost He Chang’an greatly, but the gains were equally substantial.

Hei Da’s seven storage pouches were full, though the items inside were mostly low-grade, their value lay in quantity.

Half were gold and silver treasures, the rest consisted of various unknown ores, forging materials, herbs, and foodstuffs.

There was also one storage pouch He Chang’an dared not open. Even through the protective magic of the bag, he could sense a chill and restless energy emanating from within.

Judging by Hei Da’s deeds across the martial world, that pouch was probably filled with corpses and bones—certainly nothing good.

Even the soul-calling banner, upon sensing that aura, kept its distance, seemingly disgusted by what lay inside.

After much consideration, He Chang’an still tucked it away.

These external possessions did not interest him much. The greatest reward of this battle was his cultivation.

A desperate fight to the death, with a sixth-rank martial warrior pressing him hard, finally forced He Chang’an’s sword intent to manifest and fuse into his fist techniques, greatly enhancing their damage.

Meanwhile, within his dantian and spiritual sea, the little black staff finally underwent a transformation, beginning to embody some sense of a sword...

“He Chang’an, haven’t you forgotten what I told you?” A Jiu approached, looking weary, and plopped down opposite him, speaking weakly, “If you can beat them, then beat them to death. If you can’t, run the moment you see them. Did you just ignore my advice?”

Before she could continue nagging, He Chang’an tossed three storage bags at her, each piled high with gold and jewels.

She decisively fell silent.

After carefully checking everything and bundling all the treasures at her waist, she finally breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, “Still, you did kill them in the end, He Chang’an. You’re impressive.”

He Chang’an smiled lightly.

That little treasure-lover.

...

Having slain Hei Da and wiped out dozens of black riders, He Chang’an and A Jiu sat in the cobblestone alley dividing their spoils, while the small town slowly stirred back to life.

Some began peering out cautiously, others whispered.

The cobblestone town had once been the domain of Black Flag Mountain. Now, the openly recognized mountain lord was dead, his corpse tossed into a stinking ditch like a dead dog, emitting a foul stench.

Unease stirred among the people. Through doors and windows, they pointed fingers at the two sitting in the street.

He Chang’an paid them no mind.

He was preparing for the next great battle.

While speaking with A Jiu, he focused on restoring his strength. The stack of pills ‘compensated’ from the Daoist Li Qinglian by the old scholar had been a great help.

There were healing pills, ones to restore vitality, and several that seemed to stabilize the spirit—all swallowed whole by He Chang’an, taking effect quickly.

Inside his body, it felt like dozens of knives were twisting, his meridians and dantian spiritual sea, even his brain, all ached and itched as if ten thousand ants were crawling within.

His injuries were severe, all internal.

He even suspected he was like a sieve with leaks everywhere, his spiritual energy running wild, as if about to leave his body.

Yet outwardly, he showed no sign of this. When talking with A Jiu, he occasionally exchanged a few words, joked a little, never once furrowing his brow.

Gradually, A Jiu sensed something was wrong.

He Chang’an’s aura was too fierce, making her feel strands of chilling sword energy radiating from him, causing her to shudder.

Clearly, this was the result of his energy being unable to be contained.

Still, A Jiu said nothing. She seemed quite confident in He Chang’an. Her only worry was whether swallowing so many pills would leave lingering side effects.

It was said that martial warriors who relied on pills for cultivation would see no great progress once the expensive pills ran out.

If that were true, she would have to warn He Chang’an that a single pill cost as much as a yellow clay lane...

...

Before the next battle arrived, He Chang’an seized the time to repair his battered internal organs and meridians.

This time, the injuries inflicted by Da Hei’s brutal fists exceeded those from the Leap Over the Dragon Gate trial, but his recovery was much faster.

This meant his physical body refinement had advanced, nearly stepping into the seventh-rank martial warrior realm’s “fight to the death” stage. Though his official rank remained at the peak of ninth-rank martial warrior, his strength was incomparable.

He Chang’an regarded this with calm detachment.

Success comes naturally, he thought.

...

Hundreds of miles away on a mountain, Bai Er finally lost patience and prepared to act.

Hei Da was likely killed by someone else. He felt sorrow but also secretly rejoiced that it wasn’t him who struck first, but that fool Hei Da.

His fists were tougher than Hei Da’s, but that didn’t mean his methods of killing were superior.

Bai Er understood this well.

That He Chang’an had survived a fierce battle with Hei Da and still kept half his life meant the boy was tough.

“Master Zhang, you’ve had your tea, isn’t it time to die?” Bai Er grinned slyly, his face rat-like and repulsive.

Zhang Xiaoyan turned back, cupping his chest delicately and speaking softly, “Would you really bring yourself to strike?”

Bai Er laughed loudly, “I’ve eaten men, I’ve eaten women, but someone like you, neither man nor woman, that’s a first.

“Maybe I’ll eat half of you now, and send the rest to Longhu Mountain, let the high priests taste what a worthless disciple tastes like.”

“You’ve probably never experienced the methods of the Longhu Mountain Master Zhang,” Zhang Xiaoyan sighed, eyes brimming with tears, “Just kill me, I have no one to love me anyway...”

Bai Er laughed uproariously, his face twisted into a grimace.

Zhang Xiaoyan shook his head sadly, gazing far into the distance, sighing to himself, “What a pity, I won’t get to see your battle with He Chang’an.”

Bai Er seemed to sense something and suddenly turned around, but only caught a faint gleam drifting silently past.

A chill crept into his brow. He tried to raise his hands to block it, but his arms twitched weakly before falling limply.

Bai Er’s lean body slowly split in two, collapsing to the ground with a thud.

The cut was clean, his soul utterly destroyed—he was dead beyond death.

...

In a distant, unreachable place, someone, filled with anger, plucked a lotus leaf and waved it casually.

It transformed into a sword intent, flashing past in an instant.

“That girl is too much trouble!”