Chapter Twenty-Six (Third Update) Please add to your favorites~

However, for now, Liang Jing could only set aside the mutated monsters he had to face; after all, dealing with such creatures was just a matter of snapping his fingers as long as they appeared before him. He ordered the three security guards to move all the items in the room to create obstacles, slowing the advance of the mutated monsters. Inside the building, whether it was the frenzied killers downstairs, the sober ones coming down from upstairs, or those entering later with clear minds, all were caught in a chaotic melee—a slaughter so intense it seemed to blot out the sun and moon, thick with the palpable, sticky scent of blood. Even the previously lucid mutated monsters quickly lost themselves in a frenzy of bloodlust. Without powerful mutated monsters among them, none could threaten the doors Liang Jing guarded.

With a single stroke, he cleaved a mutated bat in two from head to tail, its blood splattering across the floor. The two halves of its corpse twitched once before falling motionless into the pool of blood.

"Mutated Bat: Level 5. After crossing into an alternate dimension, it mutated under environmental influence—growing larger, its claws and fangs sharpened, now possessing blood-sucking and ultrasonic abilities."

Unfortunately, within the confines of the building, the mutated bats couldn’t utilize their abilities; they were tormented even by the mutated rats, let alone when facing Liang Jing.

He kept slaughtering monsters—tonight was destined to be sleepless. Liang Jing’s knife movements grew ever more proficient, increasingly swift and practical. Thanks to his "combat state," he required no grand gestures, focusing solely on speed, precision, and ruthlessness.

Liang Jing had never studied Chinese martial arts or traditional forms; the blade techniques he now used were basic movements he had devised himself. He neither had the time nor inclination to learn formal routines. Instead, amid constant slaughter, he sought the blade style that best suited him.

He focused mainly on strengthening his physical power, without time or opportunity to study martial arts forms. He didn't wish to spend hours learning them, either. Speed, ruthlessness, precision—that was enough.

Precision meant striking exactly where he intended, not missing by even a fraction. He owed this skill to his experience butchering pigs, allowing him to attack targets with remarkable accuracy.

Yes, he was now practicing his blade technique on these mutated monsters. If they understood, he wondered how they might feel. All the others saw Liang Jing standing at the doorway, unmoving, his short blade ceaselessly slicing, hacking, slashing upward, stabbing—like an unbreakable guardian, destroying every invader. Occasionally, he kicked corpses into the hall, sparking fierce battles among the monsters.

Under the dim, reddish light, the gleaming blade flashed again and again, each strike landing on vital points, sending mutated monsters flying and splitting them apart.

That was everyone else’s impression. Yet Liang Jing himself was dissatisfied, believing his precision still lacking, far from sufficient—like trying to win a hundred-meter sprint before learning to walk. He continued practicing basic blade strikes.

Ruthlessness meant striking with ferocity, aiming for the enemy’s vitals with killing intent. Even if his aura didn’t intimidate them, they would be forced to defend against his lethal blows. One step ahead meant victory was within reach.

As for speed, that was self-explanatory. There’s a saying—“All martial arts, no matter how strong, can be broken by speed.” The importance of speed was clear. Later, he learned more: “Extreme speed lets you attack and kill before the opponent can react; that’s the most intuitive benefit.” “Speed amplifies attack power; objects of equal mass generate greater kinetic energy as speed increases, thus greater destructive force. Paper or kite string at extreme speed can slit throats, high-pressure water jets can pierce steel.”

This was Liang Jing’s understanding. As long as he mastered speed, ruthlessness, and precision, refining his techniques in real combat, he could continually improve and create a fighting style uniquely suited to himself.

The most ruthless strike, the fastest strike, the most precise strike—combining all three to fully unleash his physical abilities.

Minute by minute, Liang Jing kept hacking and slashing, practicing his blade technique. His movements grew more relaxed, but also more dangerous—simple and direct. Eventually, he rarely dodged attacks from mutated monsters; only when a strike threatened his vital points did he shift slightly to evade. Many times, reckless monsters nearly reached him, only to be killed a moment sooner. Gradually, he formed a few simple routines—attacking enemies with the fastest, most ruthless, most precise blows.

Liang Jing had considered: if he faced trained fighters, soldiers, or professional bodyguards, how would he cope? In terms of technique, he would not be their equal—those were the crystallization of generations of blood-earned experience. He, practicing alone, could hardly compare. Yet, with similar physical abilities, he had the system to rely on, defensive gear, white healing light, and even miraculous items like life potions. As long as he wasn’t killed outright, what did injury matter? He could fight with brute force, aggressively and relentlessly, using speed, ruthlessness, and precision to attack, forcing the enemy to react to him.

Faced with his relentless assault, if they defended, they would have to endure endless, tireless attacks. In “combat state” and with white healing light, Liang Jing was a fearsome, mad, and abnormal fighting machine!

If they didn’t defend, well, he could take it. Unless they killed him instantly, they would soon meet their end. If it came down to a contest of endurance, who could outlast him? If they struck him, he struck them back—armed with the system’s miracles, wearing him down was nearly impossible.

Direct, simple, domineering, primitive, wild—that was his style…

Liang Jing immersed himself in slaughter, refining and mastering his blade technique, growing ever more skilled as time passed…

Meanwhile, those watching him at the doorway hacking through the mutated monsters were bewildered. Was he even human?

He kept colliding and fighting with the monsters, yet remained immovable—like a mountain standing between heaven and earth, unyielding. Repeating the same actions without rest, showing no fatigue—he was tougher than iron. The others had rested and returned to help several times; the longer the fight, the more exhausted they became, and the shorter their bouts.

Yang Yuyuan’s gaze was complicated. Though he was a good person with a decent temperament, who doesn’t harbor some competitive spirit? Seeing the awe in everyone’s eyes, and the three security guards’ terror, he felt a twinge of jealousy. To inspire awe and fear was proof of ability; to be ignored is the mark of mediocrity.

Both were Awakened (though Liang Jing was not, in truth), but Yang had only awakened a bit later—surely the gap shouldn’t be so great? He didn’t know what Liang Jing’s awakened power was, perhaps it truly surpassed his own fire abilities. He sighed inwardly.

A howl rang out…

The sound, hoarse and mingling the cries of two animals, seemed to come from a creature in the midst of a voice change. Yet upon hearing it, the mutated monsters shuddered—their frenzied bloodlust receding, as they slowly withdrew from the building.