Chapter Seventeen: Uprooting the Cause

"Iron Eagle Claw!"

With a thunderous shout, razor-sharp fingertips sliced through the air, a low, ominous whistle trailing behind. Zheng Yuan’s five fingers clawed savagely toward Ke Bei’s shoulder.

The momentum of this strike was terrifying; if it landed, Ke Bei’s entire arm would likely be crippled in an instant. The old man attacked with all his strength, holding nothing back.

Ke Bei’s eyes narrowed. He exhaled slowly, clenched his fist tight, and the fearsome power in his muscles exploded forth.

A dull thud resounded, the air itself seemed to tremble. An intangible force recoiled along Ke Bei’s fist, shaking his body.

Instantly, Ke Bei’s face paled. He staggered back several steps, unable to steady himself.

What incredible strength from this old dog!

Clashing head-on with Zheng Yuan, Ke Bei suffered a hidden loss. With his current power, he was still a level weaker than a third-tier fighter.

"Just submit to death, boy! Hahaha! You dare challenge a third-tier master? You’re courting death!"

Seeing Ke Bei forced back, Gu Feng’s expression relaxed. He sneered at Ke Bei.

"Noisy fool."

Ke Bei’s gaze was solemn, his eyes locked onto Zheng Yuan’s gaunt frame. Without turning his head, he flicked his wrist—a throwing knife whistled through the air.

The blade moved as swift as lightning, piercing Gu Feng’s throat before he even realized what had happened. He toppled to the ground, eyes wide open, unwilling to accept his end.

"Your turn."

Without pause, another throwing knife appeared in Ke Bei’s palm. He stared coldly at Zheng Yuan.

Ke Bei knew that matching strength with this thin old man meant certain defeat. If he’d brought his chopper, with its peerless sharpness, perhaps he could have fought Zheng Yuan. But today, he hadn’t brought the blade—only a few throwing knives at his waist.

To fight a losing battle would be sheer stupidity, and Ke Bei was no fool. His goal was simple: to ensure Zheng Yuan and Gu Feng never left the Cave of Ten Thousand Shelters alive. If word escaped, he’d have nowhere to hide.

"A throwing knife, hmm? Interesting. Did you kill the young master with that too?"

Zheng Yuan’s gaunt frame straightened, a chilling gleam flickering in his eyes. A pair of black, ghostly gloves slid onto his hands.

"I admit your knives are fast. But you’ve made a fatal mistake."

Zheng Yuan shook his head calmly, eyes fixed on the knife in Ke Bei’s hand.

"If you’d caught me off guard, maybe even I would have died. But now, your revealed trump card is no longer a trump card."

"Honestly, I doubt you can dodge this. Care to try?" Ke Bei’s lips curled into a sly smile.

"You won’t get the chance," Zheng Yuan snapped, though inside he was deeply wary of Ke Bei’s knife.

Before Ke Bei could throw, Zheng Yuan barked a sharp command and moved with uncanny steps, his body blurring into motion as he circled Ke Bei at high speed.

He dared not stop for even an instant. Against Ke Bei’s knife, he wasn’t confident in dodging, but constant motion was his answer. If he never stood still, Ke Bei would have a much harder time landing a hit.

Striking a moving target was exponentially harder than hitting a stationary one.

"Die!"

Zheng Yuan spun around Ke Bei, searching for an opening. Suddenly, his eyes flashed, and with a roar, he drove his black-gloved fist straight for Ke Bei’s chest.

Finally!

Yet, Ke Bei showed no fear. Instead, a cold smile flickered at his lips. Zheng Yuan was the strongest foe he’d faced, and Ke Bei had no certainty of a one-shot kill.

That’s why he’d held his knife, moving as if careless, baiting Zheng Yuan in with a feigned opening.

The old man took the bait.

Ignoring the fist about to crash into his chest, Ke Bei’s eyes blazed coldly. A throwing knife erupted from his palm at blinding speed—a flash of steel, and in the next instant, the blade pierced Zheng Yuan’s brow.

At the same moment, Zheng Yuan’s fist thundered into Ke Bei’s chest. The sharp crack of breaking bones rang out as Ke Bei’s body was hurled backward.

Coughing violently, blood gushed from his lips. Clutching his chest, Ke Bei rose slowly and, gazing at the corpses of Gu Feng and Zheng Yuan, allowed a smile to touch his face.

Though Zheng Yuan’s punch had broken at least four of his ribs, Ke Bei felt a profound sense of relief.

Gu Feng was dead. Zheng Yuan was dead. No one alive knew he was the one who’d killed the youth in white.

Exhaling heavily, the taste of blood thick in his mouth, Ke Bei gritted his teeth, enduring the agony in his chest as he bent down to haul both bodies away.

After disposing of them himself, he dragged his battered body back to his hut.

Though gravely injured, Ke Bei’s heart was at ease. The matter of killing the youth in white could finally be set aside. For the moment, no one would discover the truth.

One must pull weeds out by the roots, else trouble will grow anew.

This time, luck had been with him. Running into Gu Feng in the Cave of Ten Thousand Shelters and killing him had allowed Ke Bei to sweep away the last remnants of that bloody night.

"Damn it all, that hurts like hell!"

Lying on his bed, Ke Bei tore his shirt open, baring the fist-shaped dent in his chest, and cursed through gritted teeth.

Biting down hard, he felt for his broken ribs, carefully setting them straight and splinting his torso. The process lasted two full hours.

When he finally finished, Ke Bei was utterly spent. Cold sweat soaked the sheets, bloody strips of cloth littered the floor.

"Without Qianqian here, even the simplest things are a pain. Looks like I’ll have to go hungry tonight," he sighed, staring up at the unyielding ceiling.

Having someone to look after you is quite comfortable, he realized, thinking of Li Qianqian’s care—how she had seen to everything, leaving him with nothing to do.

With a sigh, Ke Bei thought ahead. In about two months, the Great Purge would arrive. Should he pay Li Qianqian’s contribution for her, too?

He frowned. A thousand red crystals was no small sum.

Now, injured as he was—everyone said broken bones took a hundred days to heal. With Ke Bei’s constitution, perhaps not a hundred, but at least a month before he could move freely again.

He counted the red crystals he had left, and his frown deepened.