Chapter 160 - 159: Executioner

Chapter 160: Chapter 159: Executioner

The blade of this blood-red saber was quite wide, engraved with peculiar patterns. Its spine was slightly curved and featured a distinctive ring, a unique design. The tip was prominent, and its curved hilt was carved with the mark of a ghost head. Though crimson, it glinted coldly under the moonlight, a testament to its incredible sharpness.

It was clearly a ghost-head saber, the very ruffian of cold weapons.

Such blades were typically forged privately among the common folk and were never considered fit for respectable company.

With its broad face, thick spine, and considerable weight, the ghost-head saber was clumsy but perfect for cleaving and hacking—ideally suited for beheadings. Simply holding one lent its wielder a ferocious aura. Consequently, apart from executioners, its users were mostly house-robbing bandits and highwaymen.

That was why in novels, oral stories, or even films, you would never find a hero of any repute using this thing as their weapon.

It was, for no other reason, simply beneath them.

The moment the blood-red ghost-head saber appeared, the pungent, coppery tang of blood faintly permeated the air.

An ordinary person smelling it would feel dizzy and start to dry heave.

The Daoists Shouyangzi had dragged into the courtyard all wore pained expressions. Had they not still been too weak to move, they would have long since been doubled over, dry-heaving on the ground.

"He’s coming! Help me! I don’t want to die! Please, help me! I’ll be your horse, your ox! I’m very useful!" the man in the yellow monk’s robe pleaded, his voice growing more frantic as he slammed his head against the bluestone floor with loud THUDS.

He had already split the skin on his forehead, leaving streaks of blood.

Unfortunately for him, no one present chose to intervene.

"Those who are not our kin are sure to have different hearts."

This ancient axiom was etched into their very bones.

The blood-red ghost-head saber trembled slightly, and a cold light flashed.

SCHLICK!

"Save..."

The frantic man in the yellow robe could speak no more.

A thin line of blood appeared on his neck. Three to five seconds later...

His head flew into the air, the pleading expression frozen on his face.

Blood gushed from the stump of his neck.

In moments, it stained the bluestone floor red.

CLOMP! CLOMP!

The sound of footsteps heralded the arrival of a plainly dressed young man, who came into view carrying the ghost-head saber.

"No need to ask. He’s here for me."

He was clearly talking about the sheath-borrowing swordsman.

"My name is Feng Yu. My ancestors were executioners."

The crowd exchanged bewildered glances. "..."

’Announcing his name and background the moment he shows up... Does this kid not know how treacherous the world is?’

"I’ve chased you across three provinces, and you’ve finally decided to show yourself." The sheath-borrowing swordsman slowly rose to his feet. The pallor that had come over him from the Deceitful People’s shrieks faded, replaced by a healthy, ruddy color.

Apparently, his injuries weren’t as severe as they had first appeared.

"If the world hadn’t changed, I would have handed this ghost-head saber back to you without a moment’s hesitation," Feng Yu said, staring into the sheath-borrowing swordsman’s eyes and enunciating every word.

"But the world *has* changed. No one knows what strange things they might encounter tomorrow. For you to reclaim this saber now is no different from taking my life."

He Xiaotian folded his arms with great interest, watching the two of them go at it.

"Back in the day, your ancestor took a ghost-head saber from my blade-nurturing lineage on credit—a blade that would never dull and was incomparably sharp! The deal was that it would be returned after one hundred and fifty years. You treacherous little punk! Ptooey!" The sheath-borrowing swordsman spat on the ground but didn’t fly into a rage and charge in to trade blows.

The ghost-head saber in Feng Yu’s hands had long since become an abnormal item.

One of its abilities was particularly bizarre.

It was what had just happened: with a mere flash of the blade, the head of the man in the yellow monk’s robe had been sent flying.

The ability to inexplicably decapitate an opponent from over ten meters away was incredibly potent.

It truly lived up to the old saying: you’d be dead before you even knew what hit you.

"When I’m dead, the saber is yours," Feng Yu said calmly. For some reason, that placid expression of his made the sheath-borrowing swordsman’s teeth ache with rage.

"Who the hell are you trying to bullshit? From the looks of it, you’ve got at least a hundred years left in you. I’ll probably be dead and gone before you are!" The sheath-borrowing swordsman was fuming. ’If I weren’t wary of that ghost-head saber, I would’ve taught you some manners by now, you little shit!’

"Not necessarily. Life is full of accidents. What if I die tomorrow? Of course, it’s just as likely you could suddenly drop dead. Then I wouldn’t have to feel guilty anymore."

Feng Yu maintained his deadpan expression, his retort leaving the sheath-borrowing swordsman speechless.

’What you’re saying makes so much sense, I’m utterly speechless... my ass!’

The sheath-borrowing swordsman finally snapped. He couldn’t stand it anymore, dealing with such a ridiculously ballsy debtor.

’It’s one thing to not return the saber, but you’re actually cursing me to die tomorrow?’

’If I don’t teach you a lesson today, you’ll never learn just how many eyes Ma Wangye has!’

SWOOSH!

With a sound of tearing air, the sheath-borrowing swordsman charged forward, wielding a golden kitchen cleaver.

The scene was, for lack of a better word, comical.

In a common street brawl, it wouldn’t have been so strange.

After all, Hua Country’s weapon control laws are extremely strict.

A kitchen cleaver is considered a highly lethal weapon.

But the sheath-borrowing swordsman was supposed to be some kind of extraordinary individual. What the hell was he doing, picking a fight with a kitchen cleaver?

As he charged, a dozen white, silk-like ribbons of energy shot forth from his golden cleaver.

Feng Yu simply turned his ghost-head saber sideways and slashed.

CRACK!

All the white energy ribbons shattered into nothingness.

"I don’t want to kill you. Stop this."

The ghost-head saber flashed. The sheath-borrowing swordsman suddenly felt the impossibly sharp, bone-chilling edge of a large saber resting against his neck.

He knew that with the slightest movement, his head would fly into the air, and he would become another headless corpse.

The sheath-borrowing swordsman felt helpless. ’How the hell am I supposed to fight this?!’

’His weapon is an abnormal item. My golden cleaver was just forged using a special technique.’

’The two can’t even be mentioned in the same breath.’

’I came to Shee Mountain precisely to evolve this golden cleaver.’

’I was going to use the surging yin energy pouring from the fissure to the netherworld, mixed with the mortal world’s aura to create Spiritual Qi, and transform it into an abnormal item.’

’Only then would I have what it takes to contend with Feng Yu’s ghost-head saber.’

"Fine, you win. You’re the big man. Just you wait. Once my golden cleaver evolves, we’ll fight again."

"Alright, you’ve had your fight. Now it’s time to calculate the compensation you owe for damaging the Divine Void Temple." Shouyangzi appeared beside the two, an abacus in his hand.

The sheath-borrowing swordsman and Feng Yu: "..."

"Three walls of the meditation chamber were destroyed, so it’ll have to be rebuilt. We’ll call that fifteen Spiritual Energy Crystals. Two sections of the courtyard wall... material costs will be five Spiritual Energy Crystals, and I’ll waive the labor fee. For the mental distress of the temple’s Daoists, that’s another twenty Spiritual Energy Crystals. You killed someone, stained the bluestone floor, and now it has to be cleaned.

"Ah, forget that last one. This old Daoist isn’t that stingy. That brings the grand total to forty Spiritual Energy Crystals. Gentlemen, any objections? If not, pay up!"

"We don’t have any money."

After a long, awkward pause, the two of them finally managed to choke out the words.

"No money?!" Shouyangzi’s hackles rose instantly. He whipped his head around to look at He Xiaotian. "Scholar X, I’m counting on you! I’ll split the fee with you, fifty-fifty."