Chapter 6: The Death of Marshmallow

As Hu San unleashed his might, the Wolfheart Bandit stronghold’s outer forces gradually pressed their advantage. Sensing the situation turning dire, Death-Judge, caught in the swirling melee, ordered a companion, “Xiao Yi, go deal with that boy. I’ll hold off Mokha for now.”

By now, every combatant had noticed Hu San’s presence—Mokha, the Third Chieftain, was no exception. He let out a booming laugh, his twin war hammers dancing ever more nimbly, making Death-Judge struggle to parry. Yet Death-Judge was no easy prey; he took up the slack from another comrade, barely managing to fend Mokha off, though he was steadily forced back. Despite his disadvantage, his life was not yet in imminent danger.

Seeing this, Mokha intensified his assault, hoping to finish off Death-Judge before that stubborn pest could return to the fight. If he succeeded, the rest would be far easier to handle. Truth be told, the match between Mokha and Death-Judge had already revealed the stronger party—Mokha held the upper hand. If not for Death-Judge’s unusual techniques that forced Mokha to use most of his strength, Death-Judge would likely already have met the true judge of souls.

Even as he fought, Mokha issued commands, sending his men to block that persistent foe—determined not to let the advantage slip, or at worst, to delay his return.

But let us leave aside the thoughts of Mokha and Death-Judge, and turn to another figure—Longbow Zhang. When Hu San first charged into the battlefield, Longbow Zhang had thought the boy would soon meet his end. Yet as events unfolded, things diverged ever further from his expectations. Had it not been a life-or-death struggle, and with so many experts pressing him, he himself might have quit the fray to take a cold-blooded shot at Hu San.

When even the one who could momentarily withstand the Third Chieftain was dispatched, Longbow Zhang’s expression darkened. He simply could not fathom how such a mere child had become so formidable in a single battle. Bewildered or not, his apprehension multiplied a thousandfold. What began as an entertaining hunt now felt more like a fatal parasite eating away at his own flesh.

Longbow Zhang realized with chilling certainty—if he did not kill the boy soon, he would be the one to die. Now, all hope rested on Marshmallow, the one sent to finish Hu San. If Marshmallow failed, the aftermath would be troublesome indeed.

No matter Longbow Zhang’s thoughts, the battle raged on. Marshmallow’s form flickered, seeming to multiply as he wove through the massive melee. The bandits assigned by Mokha to intercept him barely had time to react before he was past them, their eyes left searching for a vanished shadow.

A cold sweat broke out along the backs of those bandits. Even Mokha and Death-Judge, locked in furious combat at the center, slowed for a heartbeat, astonishment plain on their faces—clearly, Marshmallow was no ordinary foe. Was it possible the boy had been hiding his strength all along?

The question rose in the minds of both bandit leaders. One was soon elated, the other’s face turned ashen, as though glimpsing a dire future.

At that moment, Hu San also noticed Marshmallow’s approach, swift as a gale. Seeing Marshmallow head straight for him—and that not a single bandit could halt him even momentarily—Hu San hastily abandoned his current adversary and darted into a pile of corpses, using his Fish Step.

His mastery of Fish Step was still rudimentary, with only the first technique—Wagging Head and Tail—truly under his command. Thanks to this, he had managed to hold his own so far, but now it seemed insufficient.

As Marshmallow closed in, the youth—barely in his teens—made no obvious move, yet myriad afterimages blossomed, blocking every escape route in Hu San’s eyes. What had seemed like familiar obstacles now turned into treacherous reefs, threatening his life at every turn.

Helpless, Hu San could only retreat further. Without the advantage of his footwork, he was after all just a boy of eleven or twelve. In a direct sword fight, even against a common bandit, let alone the formidable Marshmallow, he would stand no chance.

“Hmm, this footwork? Interesting!” Marshmallow, who had kept a casual air throughout the battle, showed his first hint of surprise when a grab failed and Hu San slipped away like an eel. Though the technique seemed crude, Marshmallow sensed its hidden potential—likely hampered by the practitioner’s own lack of refinement. Restored to its original form, it might prove extraordinary.

Finding himself unexpectedly rewarded by this discovery, Marshmallow’s excitement grew. He put aside his urge to kill, intent instead on forcing Hu San to reveal his secrets, or better yet, capture him alive and uncover the source of the technique.

In the darkness, Marshmallow’s silhouette multiplied until it seemed a dozen men were closing in on Hu San. The boy, executing Fish Step, was like a fish in a net—forced ever backward, searching for a current that might let him slip away, but finding none.

What was stranger still, as Marshmallow drew near, wisps of black smoke would drift—deliberately or not—toward Hu San, seeping into his forehead on contact. Hu San’s legs went weak, his mind buzzing, and dizziness swept over him—now, even walking felt as strenuous as battle, let alone using Fish Step.

Who is this Marshmallow? Is he a ghost? The thought echoed in Hu San’s dazed mind.

Marshmallow was now upon him. With his vision, Hu San could see clearly: Marshmallow’s body had vanished, replaced by a dozen interlinked shadows. At their core, a tiny black sword flickered, seeming to bind the phantoms together.

As soon as Hu San faltered, several shadows lunged, and like the black smoke before, they seeped into his mind—save for the one holding the little black sword, which remained visible.

Now, Hu San’s body refused to obey his will; only his eyes could move. With the shadow so close, he could discern its nature: it was formed from countless screaming faces, each emitting a strand of black smoke that connected to the sword.

Looking closer, he realized the shadowy figure, made of wailing visages, was the very image of Marshmallow, whose now-illusory face wore a look of serene satisfaction.

“This... this...”

Hu San could no longer speak, his thoughts nearly halted. But as the shadow fully invaded his mind, a sudden thunderclap sounded in his heart.

In that instant, his stalled thoughts erupted. He was back in the sea, but now no longer a tiny fish—he was a colossal creature with the head of a fish and the body of a bird, vast beyond measure. His wings trembled, unleashing a mighty force, and a great vortex exploded in the sea.

With this surge, his immense body broke free from the ocean’s bonds. High above, his wings quivered and summoned forth a rolling power beneath him. In his sight, far off at the edge of the sky, a golden dragon drifted past, trailing a sea of thunder.

At the very moment he saw the dragon, Hu San felt all his strength converge in his right claw.

Crack!

With a soft sound, his body vanished as his right claw struck. When he reappeared, he was amidst the thunder-sea, descending upon the golden dragon. In his senses, his claw effortlessly tore through the dragon’s protective scales, and in the beast’s terrified gaze, crushed its mountainous head.

Meanwhile, in the real world, Marshmallow was just about to savor his victory when, to his astonishment, Hu San moved. Casually raising his right hand, Hu San seized at Marshmallow’s true form. As he did, the battlefield’s murderous energy swept toward them, and the seemingly feeble grasp expanded in Marshmallow’s eyes, becoming as vast as a world in a mustard seed.

Marshmallow’s proudest death-shroud technique shattered like a soap bubble. Worse, when the grasp landed on the black sword at his core, every spirit bound to it was severed.

“How is this possible?!”

He had only time for these words before he was utterly dispersed, revealing the black sword within.

With a soft clang, the inch-long sword fell upon the rocks and lay still.

The black shadow that had invaded Hu San’s body dispersed as well, drawn out by Marshmallow’s destruction.

The moment the shadow vanished and the black sword returned to its true form, in a distant, shadowy hall, before an unknown idol, the fifth jade stele shattered with a thunderous crash.

Moments later, the hall’s alarm bell rang out, and robed figures entered in succession. At length, a black-robed individual wearing a golden mask stepped forward and intoned, “Just now, the soul-stele of core disciple Wu Xiu, sent to roam the world to gain experience, shattered. The Soul-Guarding Underworld Sword is lost. I have dispatched men to Wu Xiu’s place of seclusion; it is confirmed—core disciple Wu Xiu is dead.”

At this, the hall erupted in murmurs. Suddenly, a white-haired woman raised her hand for silence. “Master, did not a trace of Wu Xiu’s soul return? With the Underworld Sword’s protection, unless a Heaven-Window cultivator intervened, not even a remnant soul should be lost. But how could Wu Xiu have provoked a cultivator of such rank?”

The black-robed master nodded gravely. “This, too, I cannot fathom. Wu Xiu’s death is a small matter—the loss of the Underworld Sword is dire. Never since the founding of our Soul Dao Sect has such a thing occurred. If the Main Sect hears of it, we will both pay dearly.”

“Before word reaches the Main Sect, we must recover the Underworld Sword. Even if we cannot retrieve it, we must discover its fate. Now, convey my order: all disciples of our Langya Branch at the Earthhole level or above are to leave seclusion. Remember, absolute secrecy is required.”

The black-robed figures exchanged glances and saluted, “We obey!”

“Go, then.” The master waved them away. Once they dispersed, he turned to a shadowed corner of the hall and said, “Yin Ming, come with me to the Heavenly Dao Sect. I sense this matter is far from simple. Perhaps the debt owed to us by Zhen Tian, all those years ago, is finally due.”