Chapter Thirty-Two: Slaughter, Parting, Seeking Support

For a moment, the room fell silent. The floor was strewn with mangled corpses and dark, red-black blood, and the once-white walls were painted in violent splashes of red and white. The air was thick with the stench of blood, sharp and overpowering. With Liang Jing’s words, a chilling shadow crept over the room, the temperature dropping as if they had truly stepped into a purgatory.

Everyone was stunned into a daze. Only moments ago, they had been arguing over whether or not to kill Liang Jing—like fish on a chopping board, debating their own fate. No one expected him to rise up now. Instinctively, they realized this man was nothing less than a god of slaughter. Was he really just the helpless fish they had thought? Looking back, their earlier argument now seemed absurd, and some could not help but feel a bitter amusement.

In truth, Liang Jing truly could not move earlier, barely able to twitch his fingers. Though he had the option to use “Violent Throw” in combat mode to kill the middle-aged guard, he felt it would be too easy, so unless absolutely necessary, he withheld his hand, choosing instead to bide his time and observe the faces of those around him in this critical moment.

Now, every discomfort had vanished. Whether mental fatigue or physical wounds, he was completely restored—better than ever, better than he had ever felt before.

Because he had awakened! He had succeeded!

Though being ignored for so long had been frustrating, the joy of becoming an awakened one lifted his spirits. At least now, he could see some true colors in those around him. He could make decisions without guilt.

The others soon came to their senses. Except for the guards, the rest were elated—if Liang Jing was unharmed, they might yet survive. Otherwise, who knew what fate the middle-aged guard would inflict upon them.

The three guards, however, were petrified, their faces ashen and drenched in sweat. The middle-aged guard was no different—until, with a shudder, he sprang into motion, attempting to flee through the window.

A sharp, brief sound cut through the air—a sonic boom from something moving at incredible speed, so piercing it rattled the mind.

“Violent Throw”!

A wet, tearing sound followed.

“Ah…”

As the sound of flesh being pierced rang out, the middle-aged guard, who had been about to leap through the window, tumbled to the ground, clutching his bleeding right foot and howling in agony, pounding the floor as though the pain was unbearable.

Only then did the others realize Liang Jing had dealt with him. The joint of his right foot had been shattered, blood spraying everywhere, fragments of bone scattering on the floor. But what had struck him? No one saw. Only that sharp sound—and then the guard was down, screaming in pain.

In the next moment, a figure appeared beside the fallen guard. Light flickered—a short knife in hand, its cold gleam reflecting off the blade as it descended toward the guard. Liang Jing.

A wet, slicing sound.

“Ah… It hurts, stop, Liang Jing, you… may you die a terrible death, ah ah…”

The guard, rolling on the ground, was severed at the waist, blood gushing forth. His upper body flailed, hands clawing, mouth spewing curses and venom at Liang Jing.

The scene was so horrifying that several people shrieked, their faces pale as death. This was the legendary execution—waist-cutting.

Liang Jing was unmoved. He stood over the writhing guard, knife in hand, eyes cold. For this treacherous, venomous man, his hatred ran deep. Had he killed him quickly, it would have been too easy, unworthy of his wrath.

Watching the guard’s desperate struggle, Liang Jing recalled reading online that after a waist-cutting, the heart’s blood supply is cut off below the waist, but the brain remains conscious for a while, nerves still feel pain. Before long, blood loss would bring death.

Sure enough, after more than two minutes of screaming and struggling, the guard finally fell still—dead.

Silence returned to the room. Everyone felt their skin crawl; no one dared disturb the peace. Liang Jing, the god of slaughter, was so ruthless—who knew what he might do next? The brutal attack on the guard’s foot alone had terrified them; an invisible pressure weighed upon their hearts.

Facing such a cruel killer, they had no power to resist. Even their deaths might come without them knowing how. None could feel safe, especially those with guilty consciences.

Ignoring their reactions, Liang Jing glanced at the items dropped by the Steel-Spined Beast—a skill book, its cover glowing green. With a thought, the green skill book appeared in his hand, unseen by the others.

“Corpse Enslavement Technique”: Revive corpses to fight for you. High health and defense (meat shield), attacks generate extreme hostility.

A good thing! He learned it at once.

Under the puzzled gazes of the others, Liang Jing clapped his hands, and the skill book dissolved into a green glow that entered his head. He was prepared; he felt the green light penetrate deep into his mind.

No longer obscured by mist as before, Liang Jing saw the green light weaving together in a star-like realm, quickly forming a rune—gray-black and chilling, clearly an evil presence.

He realized this was his “sea of consciousness,” like those in novels, and that other things resided there: a strange rune resembling a flying object, a faint rune shaped like an eye. From the formation of “Corpse Enslavement Technique,” Liang Jing deduced these represented his previously learned skills—“Violent Throw” and “Basic Insight.”

At that moment, he noticed a white, transparent rune within his sea of consciousness, of indeterminate shape, constantly shifting, its lines flashing mysteriously and complexly.

“Are you alright, Liang Jing? Should you rest a bit more?” Yang Yuyuan’s concerned voice reached his ear.

The matter was odd, but without clues, he put it aside—he had other business to attend to.

“Yes, go upstairs and rest for a while, Liang Jing…”

“That’s right, even an iron man couldn’t take this much in one night, let alone with injuries.”

“Indeed…”

As Yang Yuyuan spoke, the others joined in, “concerned” for Liang Jing. In their minds, they assumed he had forced himself to rise just to kill the guard and save them.

Listening to their “concern,” Liang Jing felt a bitter amusement—and even a cold sneer in his heart. When the guard threatened him, where was this concern? Shaking his head, he thought perhaps he was expecting too much; in the face of danger, self-preservation is only human. Loyalty and brotherhood—those were too idealistic to demand of them.

Yet, he was deeply uncomfortable. He didn’t want to protect people like this, didn’t want to feel this awkward, this sense of his efforts being wasted. After all, it was not his responsibility.

“All right, Yuyuan, I think our cooperation ends here. It’s time we parted ways,” Liang Jing said with a hint of emotion.

“What? What do you mean by that, Liang Jing?” Yang Yuyuan’s heart raced with unease.

“I mean we should split up. I don’t fit with everyone else, and there’s no sense in forcing it. If we stay together, it’ll only breed conflict,” Liang Jing patiently explained.

Hearing this, everyone felt a chill, their hearts hollow and anxious, fear creeping in.

Even the three guards were dumbfounded. Brother Hongbin might have a gun, but could he really match Liang Jing? That attack on Li the boss was beyond ordinary, even more hidden and dangerous than a firearm.

What should they do now?

Without waiting for their reactions, Liang Jing busied himself, washing off blood and grime in the bathroom, then retrieving his backpack from the room.

“You can’t leave, Liang Jing! Are you afraid we’ll drag you down? How can you be so selfish?” a man shouted.

“Yeah, yesterday you said we’d work together as a team, face hardship together, and now you’re leaving alone? What do you take us for?”

“Right, that’s shameless, how can you…”

“Think you’re strong, so you ditch us? Throw us away when you’re done…”

“…”

As they came to their senses, they looked at the blood-soaked corpses, recalling last night’s monstrous frenzy. There was no longer any sense of safety in this world, in this house. At any moment, monsters could burst in and take their lives.

Anxiety, panic, fear, oppression, and the threat of death overwhelmed them. Their minds teetered on collapse as they cursed Liang Jing, accusing him of betrayal, as if he owed them everything—forgetting how they treated him when he was threatened only moments ago.

Unknowingly, Liang Jing had become irreplaceable in their hearts, more so than their self-proclaimed leader, Yang Yuyuan. Liang Jing’s absolute strength had been their pillar, their security and backbone. Now, with him leaving, that backbone collapsed.

For a moment, it was as if the sky had fallen. They were on the verge of losing all reason.

Liang Jing, backpack on his shoulders, descended the stairs. His sharpened hearing caught every curse in the house. His eyes grew cold as he swept his gaze over the crowd, finally resting on the three guards, letting out a contemptuous snort.

The sound exploded in their ears, snapping them back from the brink of madness. They suddenly realized how reckless it was to curse this god of slaughter—wasn’t that courting death? Their faces turned ghostly pale.

“Rely on heaven, rely on earth, but ultimately, rely on yourself. Your future is your own responsibility. No one will pay your debt, and I owe you nothing!” Liang Jing ignored the hesitant, shifting face of Yang Yuyuan, pulled away the barricade, opened the door, and shouldered the massive corpse of the Steel-Spined Beast, preparing to leave.

The three guards breathed a sigh of relief, as if a huge burden had been lifted—until suddenly:

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three gaping holes appeared in the guards’ heads, red and white fluids pouring out. They died instantly, faces still bearing the look of relief from moments before.

The rest were left in a state of terror, hands clamped over their mouths to stifle any sound, truly afraid of this god of slaughter who killed without blinking. They heard only the sharp, brief sound of something slicing through the air, followed by the sound of death—never seeing how Liang Jing struck. The unknown—was the most frightening of all.