Chapter 15: The Double-Edged Chef's Knife—Spotless and Unstained, Take Note

Room 302 of the small inn. Ou Xiaolu and Carissa were both watching Charles, who wore an expression of acute embarrassment. After Ou Xiaolu had accepted Carissa’s commission, the self-proclaimed know-it-all Charles had insisted on running errands for him. Coincidentally, Ou Xiaolu needed some equipment for self-defense, so he agreed to Charles’s proposal and handed him the ten-thousand-dollar check as the budget for the operation.

But when Charles arrived at Room 302, arms full of his purchases, the scene was so awkward that Ou Xiaolu was at a loss for words. Ou Xiaolu’s request had been simple: buy a sharpened longsword or saber. Since Booth’s greatest strength lay in his swordsmanship, possessing such a weapon would provide Ou Xiaolu with a means to protect himself.

Charles, however, had nodded gravely, assuring them he understood the task. In the end, he returned with a pure steel kitchen cleaver, claiming it came highly recommended by Michelin-starred chefs.

But slashing at someone with a kitchen cleaver? The tone changed instantly—the effectiveness dropped by thirty percent, at the very least.

Furthermore, in order to avoid being hacked to death, Ou Xiaolu had designed some traps, all requiring various materials. When he asked for a fishing net, Charles brought back a basketball net. Who could that possibly entrap? Even if you couldn’t find a fishing net, a soccer or volleyball net would have sufficed.

And then there were the rest of his selections…

In short, nothing Charles brought back met with Ou Xiaolu’s approval.

But time was running short. Ou Xiaolu could only make do, using what he had to set up the traps. Once everything was in place, he returned to Room 302 to wait by Carissa’s side for the stroke of midnight.

The problem was Charles, oblivious as ever, showed no intention of leaving. He sat there, evidently planning to stay.

“Charles, can’t you just go back?” Ou Xiaolu asked.

“Go back? Why would I go back? Absolutely not,” Charles replied, denying him three times over. “Buddy, do you know, since college I haven’t stayed in a place like this. I’ve practically forgotten the smell. Don’t worry about me tonight—I won’t be peeking through that hole in the wall.”

Luckily, the hours slipped by quickly, and midnight drew near. Ou Xiaolu rose, grasping the kitchen cleaver—wholly out of place—and stepped out the door.

Carissa trailed behind him, hands trembling around the key to Room 301. At the slightest sign of anything strange, she would dash inside to seek refuge.

After the two left, Charles hid by the doorway, peering through the crack to watch the hallway.

At the stroke of midnight, the corridor lights flickered and dimmed. Ou Xiaolu, standing guard by Carissa, felt a chill run down his spine. Suddenly, a shadowy figure materialized behind her.

Ou Xiaolu’s reflexes were swift; as the shadow moved, his cleaver swept down. For an instant, it felt as though he’d sliced through nothing but air. The shadow darted around him, lunging for Carissa. Its arm morphed into the shape of a blade, poised to slash her open.

Again, Ou Xiaolu’s agility served him well. As the shadow tried to bypass him, he moved to block its path once more. The shade did not seem angered by his obstruction or attacks; instead, it kept trying to evade him.

This led Ou Xiaolu to a conclusion: the shadow possessed no intelligence. It was nothing more than a programmed entity.

But Carissa hadn’t paid him half a million dollars to analyze the shadow’s nature—she wanted him to solve the problem.

Realizing this, Ou Xiaolu put his traps to use. With a quick slice, he severed a cord, and an electrified net dropped from above, landing squarely on the shadow.

Yet the shadow appeared utterly unfazed; the net had no effect.

As the net fell, Ou Xiaolu plunged the cleaver into a nearby iron bucket. This bucket, thanks to Charles’s one successful errand, contained black dog’s blood—blood Charles swore he’d watched drawn from an entirely black dog, vouching for its authenticity.

Dipping the blade in the blood, Ou Xiaolu then infused it with his internal energy, preparing to strike the shadow with this enhanced weapon.

But just as he swung, a flash of white light streaked through his vision, and from behind the door, Charles’s muttered commentary drifted over.

“A Zwilling kitchen knife—nonstick, you know.”

“Damn it!” Ou Xiaolu cursed, pouring all his energy into the cleaver as he rained blow after blow on the shadow. At the same time, he flung the ink seahorse into the bucket of black dog’s blood, commanding it to use the blood as ammunition and attack the shadow with bubbles and water jets.

Whether it was the black dog’s blood or the energy Ou Xiaolu poured into the blade, this time, he finally struck true.

A bizarre keening erupted, more vibration of the floor than any sound a human could make.

Ou Xiaolu knew this was his only chance. With a flourish, he unleashed Booth’s signature move: Lion King Sword Technique, Secret Art—Lion’s Consecutive Slash.

This relentless assault, cutting and slicing at the enemy, left no room for escape once contact was made.

So it was now. The Lion’s Consecutive Slash required each strike to land swiftly and precisely on the target’s vital points. With such a massive shadow, Ou Xiaolu couldn’t distinguish where to aim, so he simply relied on instinct, each blow shearing away a swath of shadow.

When the technique was spent, the sound of shattering glass filled the air. The black mist dissipated, leaving only a pool of inky liquid on the floor.

Standing alert outside the black puddle, Ou Xiaolu remained vigilant, uncertain if something else might appear. For half a million dollars, he had to guarantee Carissa’s safety.

Carissa, gathering her courage, approached. Staring at the dark liquid, she asked in confusion, “Was this what attacked me every night?”

“I don’t know.” Ou Xiaolu tossed the cleaver into the bucket of black dog’s blood. “But you’d best not go near it. If that thing comes back to life, I can’t promise I’ll manage another round. And don’t stay in Room 301 tonight. Find someplace else and see if you’re finally safe.”

“Of course. I’ve been wanting to leave this dump for ages. It’s tiny, filthy, and crawling with rats.”

Miss, tiny is normal, but as for the filth—surely you know who’s responsible for that?

As Ou Xiaolu silently grumbled to himself, he noticed the black liquid on the floor drying rapidly, a small glint of light catching his eye.