Chapter 58: Responsible for Both the Kill and the Burial

Gunflame!

Facing the swiftly thrusting spear of refined darksteel, the man in the conical hat’s eyes flew wide open.

All the frivolity, disdain, and mockery in his gaze evaporated in an instant, replaced by utter shock.

For only warriors above the Body Tempering stage could summon the flame aura upon their weapons by channeling the refined energy within them—be it the sword’s arc, the blade’s edge, or the spear’s blaze.

Yet the information he had received made it clear: Fang Xiao was but a youth of barely more than ten years, who had only just stepped into the Body Tempering realm!

The sole cause for caution lay in Fang Xiao’s background—he was the kin of the abbot of Little Jing Mountain’s Daoist Temple, and a new student in the Martial Hall of the Liuhe Academy.

But the man in the conical hat was not afraid. He was a wanderer of the martial world, tied to no home or kin, free to roam the land as he pleased. At worst, he would complete his assignment, claim his reward, and set off for new horizons—not returning for three or five years, perhaps. What was there to fear?

Never did he imagine, though, that Shadow Pavilion—the assassins’ guild famed for their reliability—could make such a monumental blunder!

As he himself had stated, Body Tempering and Energy Condensation were worlds apart. Such a mistake was fatal.

In that perilous moment, however, the Energy Condensation warrior managed not to utterly lose his composure.

With a ringing clang, he drew his blade and swept it up before him, the gleaming steel intercepting the thrusting triangular spearhead as he leapt backward.

Though the flawed intelligence had placed him in grave danger, he believed that if he could only withstand Fang Xiao’s blow, he would yet have ample opportunity to turn the tables.

But in the next instant, a sharp, brittle crack sounded in his ears.

The triangular spearhead of refined darksteel struck the blade, erupting in a shower of brilliant sparks—then, without the slightest pause, punched clean through the costly wild-goose-feather saber and plunged into his throat.

The pale blade burst forth from the back of his neck!

A guttural sound escaped him. The man in the conical hat froze, his bloodshot eyes bulging almost from their sockets.

He stared at Fang Xiao in disbelief. The face before him, once rather handsome, now contorted into a mask of agony and despair.

His throat rattled. He struggled to raise his left hand, attempting to grasp the spear that transfixed his neck.

But Fang Xiao, gripping the spear tightly, took a step back and wrenched the blade from the man’s vital point.

A hot torrent of blood surged from the wound, and the Energy Condensation warrior staggered, then crashed heavily to the ground.

A convulsion passed through him. His lifeless eyes stared blankly up at the sky.

No breath remained.

Fang Xiao let out a long exhale.

It was only now he realized that his hands, clamped on the refined darksteel spear, were slick with sweat at the palms, and the muscles of his arms throbbed with a deep ache.

Yet as he gazed at the fallen foe—dead with eyes wide open—Fang Xiao’s composure was unshaken.

He had never feared battle, nor was he afraid of killing—be it beast, demon, or man.

To end a living being with his own hands brought Fang Xiao almost no inner turmoil.

For he always remembered one thing: treat your enemies with the mercilessness of winter itself.

Feeling the heat still pounding in his chest, Fang Xiao planted the refined darksteel spear upright in the earth.

He picked up the broken half of the saber that had fallen to the ground and began digging a pit at the side of the mountain path.

After perfecting the Dragon-Tiger Stance, his physique far surpassed what it had been when he first arrived in this world, and with the quality of the blade being so fine, it took him little time to gouge out a deep hole.

He tossed the corpse of the man in the conical hat into the pit, added the broken saber as a grave offering, then filled the earth back in.

This was the only mercy Fang Xiao could grant his foe.

As for anything the man might have been carrying, the thought of claiming it for himself never crossed his mind.

His mother had once told him: never take things from the dead.

After a moment’s thought, Fang Xiao dragged over the large stone the man had earlier reclined upon and placed it atop the grave.

Perfect.

With a loud bray, the big green donkey burst from the nearby woods, galloping back to Fang Xiao’s side.

The creature, sensing that the danger had passed, shook its head and pranced about, clearly delighted.

Fang Xiao patted its head and smiled.

He retrieved his spear and took off up the mountain in great strides.

When he once again saw the tiny figure seated at the temple gate, a wave of relief washed over him.

She was safe!

“Brother Fang!”

Huaihua had no inkling of what had occurred below. Upon seeing him, her face burst into a wide smile.

Fang Xiao strode over and couldn’t help but ruffle the little girl’s hair.

He said gravely, “Huaihua, you mustn’t come here again.”

Huaihua was dumbfounded. “Why not?”

She looked aggrieved, her big eyes welling with tears.

Fang Xiao hurriedly explained, “I just met a bad man on the road. I’m afraid there could be more danger in the future. So, until the master comes out of seclusion, you mustn’t come here again.”

The man in the conical hat had said someone had put a price on his head, wanting his arm cut off.

Fang Xiao had thought carefully about this.

He hadn’t been in this world long, and knew few people. Who could bear him such a grudge?

First, he thought of the young men of the Zheng family he had beaten at the teahouse. They had every reason to seek revenge.

After falling out with Zheng Kaizhi, that scion of the Zhengs had once sought him out, hoping for reconciliation, but Fang Xiao hadn’t the patience to play along.

Zheng Kaizhi, for his part, retained his pride and never approached Fang Xiao again.

There was also the man who managed the carriages outside the academy—Fang Xiao had not only beaten him but ruined his livelihood. That was no small grudge.

Though he had now dealt with the man in the conical hat, Fang Xiao could not be sure another would not come seeking vengeance.

He himself did not fear it, but he could not guarantee Huaihua’s safety.

When she heard his explanation, Huaihua’s eyes went wide. “Brother Fang, are you alright? Is the bad man still here?”

“I’m fine,” Fang Xiao smiled. “The bad man has been… scared off by me!”

There was no need to tell a little girl about bloodshed.

“Alright then,” Huaihua pouted, reluctantly agreeing. “I won’t come anymore.”

“How about this,” Fang Xiao said, inspiration striking him. “From now on, at this time each day, wait for me at the village entrance—I’ll come to you, alright?”

It was just a bit more distance, and with the big green donkey, it would be easy enough. Besides, he could bring her the two White Rabbit milk candies he got each day.

Huaihua’s eyes sparkled and she clapped her hands. “Alright, alright!”

“Then it’s settled,” Fang Xiao said cheerfully, escorting the little girl down the mountain.

Back at the temple, he opened the bamboo basket Huaihua had brought—inside were steamed buns stuffed with vegetables and meat. With clear mountain spring water, the meal tasted especially sweet and delicious.

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Note: Regarding looting corpses—a brief explanation here: the protagonist does not loot the dead. First, martial artists aren’t worth looting; as for cultivators and demons, while he doesn’t loot them either, their remains won’t go to waste. Details will be revealed later, so no spoilers for now. Thank you for understanding.