Chapter Six: Master! Please vote and add to your favorites.

Two muffled grunts sounded at the same time as both men broke apart. Liang Jing instinctively retreated two steps, while Dai Wu, clutching his right arm with his left, staggered back five or six meters before stopping, barely able to hold onto his short blade.

Damn, that was fierce!

Dai Wu felt a chill in his heart. He hadn’t expected his opponent to be even more ferocious than he’d imagined. Nor had he thought that, despite his own sneak attack and many tricks, he’d only managed to inflict a light wound—the man’s leather armor had been underestimated. In truth, Liang Jing’s injury was quite deep, and the armor wasn’t as effective as Dai Wu believed. It was only that Liang Jing’s vital essence worked so well that the bleeding had stopped quickly, making the wound appear shallow and the blood almost negligible.

Earlier, Dai Wu’s attacks had shifted too swiftly and in too many ways. Liang Jing could only respond by firing steel balls from his left hand, three rapid shots that managed to intercept the fine, needle-like projectiles Dai Wu spat from his mouth. The needles were so tiny and fast at close range that they were nearly impossible to hit. Liang Jing had narrowly avoided being struck, even catching the scent of death as the black needle, reeking faintly of a putrid odor, whizzed by. He could tell it was poisonous, and marveled that Dai Wu could keep such a thing in his mouth without harm. Had it pierced his neck, Liang Jing doubted he’d have survived. Just thinking about it sent a shiver down his spine—how dangerous!

Yet Liang Jing was unable to shoot down Dai Wu’s short-blade assault. The attack was too quick and close, and despite his rapid fire, there simply wasn’t enough time. In comparison, the speed of those poisonous needles wasn’t that great; it was their proximity that made them deadly. Still, they were far weaker than the steel balls Liang Jing hurled with his “Brutal Throw” skill in combat mode.

Blood trickled from Liang Jing’s right shoulder, staining his newly generated “Warrior’s Leather Armor.” The brief clash had lasted only an instant, yet it was fraught with brushes with death—who could know? If he’d been even a little slower, all his strange abilities would have been for naught, and he’d have died on the spot. This was the closest he’d come to dying yet. Clearly, the world was filled with extraordinary people. Though Liang Jing had many peculiar powers, he’d once been nothing more than a butcher and laborer. Facing those who had received special training before mutation and awakened further after, he was still in great danger.

His eyes icy, Liang Jing regarded the black-clad man six or seven meters away. Of medium height but built like an ox, the man exuded explosive strength, his demeanor cold and expressionless. But Liang Jing knew that Dai Wu’s right arm had been shattered by his elbow strike—not merely fractured, but broken, bone fragments and all. Recovery would take weeks at least; the saying went, “It takes a hundred days to heal bones and tendons.” Even an Awakened couldn’t defy that. Compared to Liang Jing’s own recovery, there was no comparison—his nearly bone-deep arm wound had already stopped bleeding and was beginning to heal.

Without hesitation, Liang Jing, now thoroughly enraged, strode toward Dai Wu, intent on killing him. This man was too dangerous—his mysterious powers, the speed and force of his attacks, the venomous needle aimed at Liang Jing’s throat. As long as Dai Wu lived, Liang Jing would know no peace, facing endless ambushes.

But the black-clad assailant flipped and vanished into thin air, leaving Liang Jing with no chance to pursue. When he appeared again, he was standing atop a wall.

“Who are you?” Liang Jing demanded coldly.

Dai Wu’s face remained impassive, his eyes cold as he silently observed Liang Jing, as if trying to memorize him. Then, with another agile leap, he vaulted over the wall and disappeared. It seemed his ambush had failed, and he saw no hope in a direct fight, so he fled.

Watching Dai Wu vanish, Liang Jing shook his head and did not pursue. The man’s ability to awaken was too unpredictable; even if Liang Jing tried to chase, there was no way to track someone who’d disappeared. Besides, he had to remain on guard for another ambush—if Dai Wu succeeded, it might turn out that the hunter became the hunted.

Off to the side, the elegant woman and the youth finally seemed to snap out of their daze, their eyes wide with terror but not daring to make a sound. They seemed to recognize the black-clad man and were deeply afraid, their eyes darting anxiously about as if searching for something, worry and fear etched on their faces.

Liang Jing appeared disinclined to pay them any mind. He stepped outside, ready to gather his belongings and continue with his business. He picked up the short knife he’d dropped earlier, crouched, and reached for his backpack.

At that very moment!

Liang Jing’s left hand flicked four steel balls rapidly behind him—the most he’d ever launched at once with “Brutal Throw.” After all, he only had so many fingers, and his thumbs couldn’t be used to fire.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

A muffled grunt sounded in midair. Dai Wu’s left shoulder was evidently fractured—he dared not linger. His ambush had failed, and his counterattack had backfired; he fled at once.

A shadow appeared in what had seemed like empty space, then began to vanish again. This time, though, Liang Jing seized the opportunity. His legs exploded with force as he slashed at the shadow with his short knife, the blade flickering in the sunlight.

But only the sound of air being split was heard, the strike missing its mark. Only half a piece of black cloth, sliced away, remained fluttering in the air. The black-clad man had vanished with astonishing speed, escaping once again. Liang Jing didn’t relent, for there were bloodstains on the ground—the man was wounded. He had seen Dai Wu’s left shoulder struck by one of his steel balls. Unfortunately, the projectiles were too small and light to be truly lethal to someone like Dai Wu.

After Dai Wu vanished, Liang Jing’s sense of danger remained acute. With his body continually strengthened, especially after becoming an Awakened and gaining supernatural powers, his senses had become ever more sensitive. He felt like a mouse under a cat’s gaze and knew Dai Wu hadn’t left—he was still lurking, unwilling to give up.

Liang Jing feigned ignorance, his face unchanged, but his mind was on high alert, searching for Dai Wu’s position. When he pretended to reach for his backpack, he’d deliberately chosen that spot—there were several leaves on the ground there, lying half-flattened, which Liang Jing kept an eye on. The black-clad, invisible Dai Wu, careless for a moment, had no idea he was walking into a trap. Liang Jing waited until the perfect instant, then unleashed four steel balls, covering every direction Dai Wu might dodge.

Even so, Liang Jing was surprised by Dai Wu’s agility—his body was as flexible as a noodle, and only one steel ball struck, missing any vital spot and inflicting only a minor wound.

Liang Jing pressed the attack, following the trail of blood from Dai Wu’s injured left shoulder. But his opponent was nearly as fast, and after a short chase around a corner, Liang Jing lost him completely. Dai Wu’s innate powers were too bizarre—he could vanish at will. If he hadn’t been wounded and leaking blood, Liang Jing would have lost him even sooner. Now, with the bloodstains hidden, there was nothing more Liang Jing could do but shake his head and give up the chase.

His enemy would certainly be more cautious after this. Liang Jing was in a foul mood—he’d made a powerful, inexplicable enemy for no reason at all. If not for his quick reflexes, he might already be dead. He ground his teeth in hatred at the black-clad Dai Wu.

Enough! He would go back, pack up, deal with the other two, and get back on the road.

But when Liang Jing returned, he found a third person had joined the group. The three seemed to be discussing something, and the elegant woman had now pulled on her pants and straightened her clothes. A flash of regret passed through Liang Jing’s eyes—he couldn’t forget the scene from before. Words like “stunning” and “tempting” still flickered through his mind. After all, he was a normal man, fond of beautiful women, and his reaction was perfectly natural. If he’d felt nothing, he wouldn’t even be a man. The woman was indeed extraordinarily alluring; no wonder those burly men had lost all self-control and acted so impatiently.

Now, seeing the new arrival—a middle-aged man with a back as straight as a spear—Liang Jing’s eyes narrowed...

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