Chapter Thirty: The Audacity of the Middle-Aged Security Guard

“Haha... ahahahaha...”
At that moment, an arrogant, utterly deranged voice echoed from outside, drawing everyone’s attention toward its source. A shadow climbed in through the window, the sunlight stretching his figure long and thin, making it impossible to discern his identity. Yet, something about him seemed familiar. In his hand gleamed a long machete, reflecting the sunlight.

The middle-aged security guard stepped into the room and froze, his eyes narrowing sharply. The sight inside was a massacre: mutilated bodies of mutated monsters and pools of blood everywhere. The overwhelming stench assaulted his nostrils, making his head ache, turning the room into a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood. Fear gripped his heart.
But remembering how the group had fought relentlessly through the night, and knowing firsthand the horror of those mutated creatures, he reasoned that even if they had survived without injury, exhaustion alone would have killed them. Moreover, a massive beast had entered just moments ago. Even if Liang Jing was still alive, he must be crippled by now. The guard had spent the entire night in an adjacent building, listening to the sounds of battle. With these thoughts, he felt reassured and walked forward.

Only now did everyone finally see who the newcomer was. He wore oversized clothes, hanging loosely on his body, reminiscent of a ragged soldier. His face, pale from lack of sleep, looked bloodless; his lips were dark purple, and now, flushed with excitement, his cheeks were an unhealthy red, as if drunk.

Upon seeing him, fury welled up in everyone’s hearts. This was the very man responsible for last night’s calamity.

“You dare come here? Bastard!”

“You son of a bitch! Are you looking to die, coming here so treacherously—”

“If I weren’t so exhausted, I’d slice you in half right now, damn it—”

“...”

“Heh heh... you’re all too weak to move, aren’t you? Why shouldn’t I come now? The real show is about to begin.”
He looked smugly at the group resting to one side, at the unconscious Yang Yuyuan, and at Liang Jing lying in a pool of blood. The security guard felt delight swelling within him.

Despite the curses hurled at him, despite the discomfort of stepping in filthy blood and on mangled corpses, despite the pungent reek filling the room, nothing could dampen his exhilaration.

As the sun rose, its light poured through the window, gradually illuminating the room.
The middle-aged security guard laughed maniacally, machete in hand, striding toward Liang Jing, who lay amidst the carnage. His expression flickered between hatred, anger, cruelty, and fear—more dramatic than the famed face-changing performers of Sichuan.

He had waited so long for this moment of revenge, and now it was finally here.

Meanwhile, Liang Jing was suffering more than ever before. The white spiritual light acquired from slaying the Steel-Spined Beast had just entered his body when, deep in his mind, a powerful suction force drew most of the light into a mysterious place within his consciousness. Complex, arcane runes flashed relentlessly; soon, a strange energy was secreted from within, flowing through his skin, muscles, meridians, bones, head—every part, every crevice, every cell of his body.

It felt as though a sharp blade was carving fiercely through his mind, an indescribable agony. As the alien energy coursed through his body, a searing pain blazed in every inch of flesh, every bone, every cell—as if his fat were burning away, purging impurities and oils.

As the energy penetrated further, the sensation grew more unbearable, like ants crawling and gnawing deep within him, an unutterable mix of numbness, pain, and itching. Yet his body was immobilized, making the torment all the more excruciating.

Liang Jing desperately wished to pass out, but his nerves, stimulated by the white spiritual light, refused to sever their connection to his body. His mind was never so lucid, acutely aware of pain at its absolute limit, while his body would not obey, not even his fingers could move. It was worse than death.

The alien energy continued to invade and transform his body, focusing on various nodes and channels. The knife’s edge and fire’s burn permeated him completely. With time, though Liang Jing remained motionless, he could sense his connection to the world becoming clearer.

After a night’s gradual absorption and accumulation, and the final infusion of the Steel-Spined Beast’s white spiritual light—its life essence—the powerful source sparked the awakening of Liang Jing’s rare innate abilities. Now, he would survive only if he could endure, for the more advanced the ability, the more energy was required.

“Haha... Liang Jing, weren’t you so tough and arrogant? Why are you lying there like a dead dog now?”
The security guard trembled as he gripped his machete, hesitant to approach Liang Jing, but his expression was wild and deranged.

“Get up! Ahahaha... Weren’t you supposed to be strong, a great fighter? Yet you couldn’t escape my ingenious five-fingered trap. Why aren’t you jumping up? Stand up, you bastard!”
His mad taunts, however, betrayed his inner cowardice.

After a long while, seeing that Liang Jing truly wasn’t moving, not even twitching, the security guard’s hand still shook as he held the machete, but he began to creep closer.

Just then—

The middle-aged security guard, eyes fixed on Liang Jing as he approached for his revenge, saw Liang Jing suddenly open his eyes. His gaze was sharp as a blade, stabbing straight at him.

“Ah—”

Liang Jing, having endured a night of brutal slaughter, was at the height of his murderous aura. As his eyes snapped open, the temperature in the room seemed to plummet.

An almost tangible bloodlust swept through the room like a chilling wind. Everyone felt a shiver run down their spine, as if the figure lying among the corpses and blood was not a man, but a devil who had climbed out of the infernal abyss.

The others recoiled in terror, taking several steps back, but the security guard closest to Liang Jing seemed to see some monstrous apparition. He staggered backward across the swampy floor, finally losing his balance and falling, legs in the air, splattering blood everywhere. His hands flailed in the air, as if grasping for something, but he couldn’t get up for a long while, his once-clean clothes now soaked in black-red blood and gore.

After a moment, the security guard came to his senses, scrambled to his feet, retreated all the way to the far wall, hands pressed against it, eyes wide with fear staring at the unmoving Liang Jing. The machete he’d held was nowhere to be found.

The others watched his performance with disdain and amusement. Although they too had been startled, their reactions paled in comparison, providing some psychological comfort—a scapegoat to vent their frustrations.

Liang Jing seemed to be in great pain, but his eyes sparkled with amusement, as if watching a clown act. Unseen by others, he held several steel balls in his hand; in “combat mode,” a flick of his fingers could unleash a lethal attack, killing the security guard instantly.

Finally, the security guard calmed himself, but seeing Liang Jing still lying motionless, his eyes darted about, unwilling to approach, clearly scheming something.