Chapter 330 - 329: Going it Alone

Chapter 330: Chapter 329: Going it Alone

The hospital guard leader’s fingers hadn’t even touched the grayish-brown cloak; they were still a short distance away.

The glint of a blade—a sudden flash!

There was no world-shaking aura, no piercing whistle cutting through the air, no brilliant, dazzling light.

There was only a streak of light—as desolate and cold as an autumn moon’s frost, as swift as a bolt of lightning—flashing out from the plain scabbard!

"Hssst..."

An incredibly faint sound arose, like a sharp blade slicing through thin silk.

The hospital guard leader froze. The flesh of his face was still quivering from his reprimand, but the light in his eyes was already fading fast.

A fine line of blood appeared, tracing a path straight down from the center of his brow, over the bridge of his nose, his lips, his chin, his throat, his chest... Then, like a toppled stack of blocks, his body split neatly in two along that line. The halves slowly, very slowly, peeled apart and fell to either side.

Organs, blood, and intestines... SLOSH. They spilled across the floor. The thick stench of gore instantly overwhelmed the sweet scent of perfume and shattered the courage of the onlookers.

"AHHH..."

After a moment of dead silence, the piercing, cracking screams of women and the terrified shouts of men shattered the cheerful atmosphere of Yixiang Building.

The main hall of Yixiang Building instantly erupted into chaos!

Guests scattered in a panic. Wine cups and dishes were overturned. Tables and chairs were sent flying. Half-dressed women screamed and scrambled for cover. The scene was pure pandemonium. Some guests were already leaping from the building, desperate to get away.

"Enemy attack! Grab your weapons! Don’t let him escape!"

More hospital guards and thugs poured out from every corner, a number of Upper Three Grades masters among them—a testament to Yixiang Building’s deep reserves.

With swords and sabers drawn, they roared and charged the figure who still stood motionless, eager to cut him down.

The figure, however, paid them no heed and began to move, calm and unhurried.

Once he moved, he was no longer still.

The grayish-brown cloak fluttered like a dead leaf caught in a gale, drifting into the crowd. He exuded no overpowering aura, as if afraid of frightening away these worthless thugs.

Only now was the sword in his hand revealed, and it looked utterly unremarkable.

The body of the sword was long and narrow, with an elegant curve. Its edge gleamed with a cold, faint light under the lamps. It was, surprisingly, only a Top Level Mortal Artifact—truly ordinary, considering his apparent status.

Where the sword’s light rose, death blossomed.

This time, it wasn’t a single strike, but a curtain of light—a curtain of death—that swept toward the surrounding thugs of Yixiang Building.

SQUELCH! SQUELCH! SQUELCH!

The rapid sounds of sharp steel slicing through flesh and bone were accompanied by short screams and dull thuds as bodies hit the floor.

Everywhere the figure passed, it was as if the Death God himself were swinging his scythe, showing not a shred of mercy.

Ferocious hospital guards, thugs attempting sneak attacks, even a few unlucky guests who were paralyzed with fear, their legs having given out—all were cut down by the impossibly fast, unreasonably vicious glint of the blade. Not a single one was spared.

Not one move was wasted, not one strike missed its mark, not an ounce of strength was squandered.

Every strike landed with precision on a vital point—the throat, the heart, the brow. Each blow was instantly fatal. He was unstoppable.

Blood, like cheap paint, splattered across the polished floors, the expensive Persian carpets, the carved pillars, and even the erotic paintings on the walls, pooling everywhere.

Severed limbs and body parts flew through the air. The hall, so full of vibrant life just moments before, had instantly become an Asura’s slaughterhouse, the earlier revelry replaced by carnage.

More terrifying still, his body technique and speed were somehow increasing, though they remained within the realm of the Upper Three Grades.

He moved like a phantom, weaving through the crowd. It looked like a leisurely stroll, but each step was perfectly timed to the rhythm of slaughter, with not an iota of wasted movement.

The hospital guards’ blades swung, only to slice through an afterimage. A moment later, they would feel a chill on their necks, and their heads would be gone.

An encirclement?

A siege?

Before such phantom-like speed and a sword technique sharpened to the absolute limit, any attempt to surround him was utterly useless.

"A master! He’s at least a First Grade Grandmaster! Go get Steward Zhao! Steward Zhao is a Grandmaster, too! Hurry! Report upstairs! We’re no match for him!" one of the more experienced hospital guard leaders shrieked, utterly terrified.

But before the words had even left his mouth, a glint of the blade, as inescapable as a burrowing maggot, caught up to his fleeing form. It cleaved him in two from head to toe, silencing him forever.

The slaughter continued. Blood flowed everywhere.

Meanwhile, Song Yuyan, hidden across the way, was completely stunned. She had never imagined such a dramatic turn of events.

Her cool, beautiful eyes flew wide, pupils contracting in utter shock. Her Heart Lake, usually as calm as still water, was now a raging tempest, and she could barely control herself.

Fast!

Too fast!

Vicious!

Too vicious!

Skillful!

Too skillful!

The power the Cloaked Guest displayed was only at the First Grade Grandmaster level, but for some reason, she felt he was hiding his true strength.

His sword technique was exquisite and ruthless, his body technique was uncanny and swift, and his efficiency at slaughter was simply unheard of.

Even more terrifying was his calmness, a state of mind that remained as still as a deep well even in the midst of a bloodbath. It was as if he weren’t killing people, but simply mowing grass; as if the lives around him were nothing more than straw.

Song Yuyan’s mind was reeling. ’Who is this man? I can’t gauge his true power, but what he’s showing is already at the Grandmaster level! I’ve never heard of a top-tier sword master like this in White Jade City. Is he from out of town? But why would he attack Yixiang Building?’

’Is he avenging the women Yixiang Building has wronged? Does he have a grudge against Prince Zhenbei’s Mansion? Or... is he here because of the matter concerning the Eastern Palace?’

She subconsciously hoped it was the last reason—that this mysterious master was on the side of the Eastern Palace, here to stop that sordid transaction. That he was one of them.

But reason told her it was unlikely. ’How could His Highness possibly command such a master now? Could it be... that mysterious expert?’

Although she had never met him, that mysterious master had helped the old retainers of the Crown Prince’s Mansion many times before.

Perhaps he had heard of the conspiracy between Yixiang Building and Prince Zhenbei’s Mansion targeting the Eastern Palace, and had come for retribution. That possibility was not insignificant.

Just as her thoughts were racing, a window of the Jile Pavilion on the top floor of Yixiang Building was smashed open.

Three figures appeared at the window, their expressions grim, as if facing a formidable foe. Behind them stood several Upper Three Grades masters. Leading them were none other than Tu Gang, Zhao Wu, and Lady Yu, who had heard the commotion and come down to investigate.

Tu Gang’s face was dark, his gaze as sharp as a hawk’s. His eyes instantly locked onto the blood-soaked figure in the center of the hall, who was still cutting down men.

The aura of a Super Grade Celestial Human burst forth without reservation—a cold, violent pressure that swept toward the figure like a blizzard roaring down from the Northern Territory.