Chapter Forty: The Sword Intent of Slaughter

Ahead were all figures from the martial world, yet, strangely, though the ranks seemed scattered, there was not the slightest hint of disorder. No one dared to rush forward first. Especially at the moment they caught sight of Jiang Ming, the chaotic clamor vanished in an instant—even the advancing footsteps came to a synchronistic halt.

A man’s fame casts a long shadow; before a grandmaster, all are hesitant.

Jiang Ming smiled, a trace of mockery on his lips.

Alone behind, a thousand foes before.

“Everyone, since ancient times, evil can never suppress the righteous; good shall always triumph over wickedness. This man is a villain of the worst kind. Though powerful, he will surely be crushed before our army of justice!” A middle-aged man at the front of the ranks waved his hand with authority, striding toward Jiang Ming with head held high and chest puffed out.

He had a square face, radiating an air of uprightness, his eyes never straying, brimming with righteous energy.

The others quickly followed his lead.

“Jiang Ming, you have slaughtered villages, wiped out hamlets, raped and pillaged—kneel and confess your crimes!” The middle-aged man stopped at the base of the mound, raised his head, and shouted.

“Kneel and confess!” the others roared angrily, blades, spears, swords, and halberds all pointed upward.

Jiang Ming smiled and asked, “You must be Zhao Justice. Which village did I slaughter, which hamlet did I destroy?”

Constable Jin had supplied him with much information. From the description, Jiang Ming recognized the leading middle-aged man at first glance.

He was from Fengzhou, a master in his own right, famed for his generosity and righteousness—an exemplar of virtue, known as Hero Zhao.

There were over twenty innate-level experts among them, and three masters hidden within the crowd—clearly concealing their identities.

This group was exceptionally strong, able to sweep through most sects.

They might even have the strength to besiege a grandmaster.

“Feng Family Village, Ma Family Hamlet—all wiped out by your hand! You spared neither woman nor child. Your crimes are unforgivable!” Zhao Justice thundered, pointing at Jiang Ming from afar.

“By your account, then, I am truly the most heinous of villains, guilty of every sin imaginable,” Jiang Ming replied calmly. “But who witnessed it?”

“I did!” A young man stepped forward, fear and timidity in his eyes, yet forcing himself to speak boldly. “I was hiding in the grass at the time. I saw you laughing as you killed, raping for pleasure, then tearing out a young girl’s heart and devouring it. You are a devil, a demon—I wake from nightmares because of you!”

“Slaughtering villages, devouring hearts—and you claim you’re not a demon?” Zhao Justice raged, his voice thundering. “Jiang Ming, before others you act human, but behind their backs, you’re a fiend from hell.”

The gazes of the others turned icy as they looked at Jiang Ming.

“If it was truly me, with my skills, would I have failed to notice someone hiding nearby? Laughable, utterly laughable,” Jiang Ming shook his head.

Zhao Justice’s pupils contracted; the others’ eyes flickered uneasily.

“And you, Zhao Justice, the so-called paragon of generosity and virtue—such high praise,” Jiang Ming continued. “I’ve heard that as a youth, you were poor, but by chance obtained a secret manual and rose to become a master. Such talent is rare. Your good name comes from your hospitality to wandering martial artists, rewarding each visitor with at least a hundred taels of silver, sometimes thousands. Is this not the reputation for generosity you’ve earned?”

“Of course!” Zhao Justice straightened his chest, brimming with righteousness. “Jiang Ming, confess, and I might spare your life.”

Jiang Ming sneered, “You have no ancestral wealth, no business or estate, yet you own a grand manor of over eighty acres, lavish beyond compare, hundreds of servants, and you lavishly support martial artists. Zhao Justice, where did your money come from?”

“This…” Zhao Justice’s face changed dramatically.

“Hah, such is the so-called Hero Zhao! A paragon in the eyes of the world, a villain behind closed doors. The martial world, oh, the martial world! How few truly act with chivalry and justice—most are nothing but schemers,” Jiang Ming shook his head and no longer looked at Zhao Justice. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the young man and bellowed, “Speak! Were you threatened or coerced into slandering me?”

The shout crashed down like thunder from the heavens.

A strange light flickered in Jiang Ming’s eyes—he had activated a spirit-based beguilement technique. The youth’s will was no match.

The young man shuddered, his expression shifting, and blurted out, “Yes, yes! Zhao Justice found me and said if I falsely claimed to have seen you slaughtering the village, he’d give me thirty thousand taels—”

He never finished. Zhao Justice struck him dead with a single palm, then pointed at Jiang Ming and roared, “You fiend! How dare you kill the witness before my very eyes? Lawless, utterly lawless! Everyone, follow me—let’s kill this demon, avenge the innocent, and restore justice to the world!”

He suddenly charged, swinging his sword in a flurry of dazzling sword energy. Grand and imposing, the sword aura seemed capable of slaying any foe, yet his steps visibly slowed.

“Kill!” came the chorus from the crowd.

The martial artists rushed forward almost by instinct.

A look of astonishment flickered across Jiang Ming’s face atop the mound. He could not help but curse aloud, “Damn, to be slandered openly—truly an eye-opener. The martial world, the martial world… heh!”

Not long ago, Constable Jin had told him tales of the martial world’s darkness, but Jiang Ming had paid them little mind.

Today, this scene utterly disillusioned him about the so-called martial world.

Completely disillusioned.

Heroes?

They were little more than fireflies in the darkness—too few and far between.

Most were petty schemers, with neither loyalty nor virtue.

In truth, given his murderous intent, he should have started a massacre the moment these people appeared. But, coming from a civilized society, he hoped some among them had merely been misled, so he tried to explain, hoping some would withdraw.

Instead, the true face of the martial world was laid bare.

Who among them had come for any noble reason? Each was clearly pursuing their own agenda. He also sensed Bai Yunfei and others approaching—an alternative stance, perhaps. And in the shadows lurked three grandmasters, moving with the crowd, their presence hidden from most, but not from him.

“A deathtrap!”

Jiang Ming immediately judged the situation, yet he was unbothered.

This group of greedy, self-serving men was clearly meant to wear down his strength. As for daring to attack a grandmaster—perhaps it was the four masters among them, plus over twenty innate experts, that gave them such boldness. With such a formidable lineup, anyone would feel emboldened.

Clang!

The Sky-Splitting Sword appeared, shattering all the oncoming attacks. Jiang Ming charged down.

“If I don’t unleash a massacre today, I’ll never be at peace with myself!”

No supreme killing techniques, no sweeping sword energy—only the Sky-Splitting Sword, reaping lives with each swing. Blood blossomed, lives withered.

Every blow claimed a life.

Even as he plunged into the crowd, not a single person could touch his sleeve. Even the rain of hidden weapons was completely deflected.

First-class fighters? Innate experts?

All fell to a single stroke.

“Zhao Justice, didn’t you want to kill me? Why do you keep retreating?” Jiang Ming’s gaze locked on him, advancing step by step, each step steeped in murderous intent.

He moved unhurriedly, yet his killing aura grew ever more intense. Some of the attackers were chilled to the bone, terror etched on their faces.

Some tried to flee, only to be cut down by sudden sword energy.

Leave?

Too late!

“I’m not retreating, I’m preparing my killing blow!” Zhao Justice watched as Jiang Ming slaughtered men with ease, the surrounding experts unable to hinder him in the slightest, and felt a chill run through him.

But at this point, he had no choice.

Moreover, he knew there were grandmasters watching from the shadows.

“Masters, if not now, then when?” Zhao Justice suddenly bellowed.

“A villain so steeped in sin must die!” An ancient voice sounded from due west. One man shattered his black robe, revealing an elderly face.

His eye sockets were sunken, his frame gaunt.

Most striking were his hands, claw-like and blackened—clear evidence of training in venomous arts.

“He must die!” Another voice, hoarse and cold. This man shed his black robe to reveal a masked figure holding a blade.

With a flick of the wrist, a chill swept forth, the blade’s aura sharp enough to slay all foes.

“Amitabha, Jiang benefactor, your evil knows no bounds. If you will not lay down your blade, then you must face the wrath of the Diamond King!” From the other side, the black robe fell to reveal a bald, burly monk, his face covered in coarse flesh, voice gentle but menacing.

He held a steel staff. With a slight movement, his upper garment burst apart, revealing a torso knotted with muscle, gleaming as if dusted with gold powder.

Clearly, this was the outward manifestation of the Diamond Invulnerability technique.

“At last, you’ve abandoned your disguises!” Jiang Ming, with a casual swing, cut down two men. The killing intent in his heart surged to a peak, and in that instant, underwent a qualitative transformation.

A wave of murderous aura rushed from his crown skyward, shaking the heavens.

The terror of it spread, sending chills through all nearby experts—several fainted dead away.

“Killing Sword Intent? You’ve comprehended another true intent!” The bald monk’s pupils shrank, his face changing drastically. He roared, “Demon-Subduing Thirty-Six Staffs—die!”

“Die!”

“Die!”

“Die!”

Zhao Justice and the other three reeled in horror, knowing they could wait no longer. They unleashed their ultimate skills, launching a deadly assault.