Mr. Chen... so his name really *is* Mr. Chen. Well, this name is indeed quite fitting.
Even though they haven’t known each other long, and despite the fact that this man wants to kill me, I still have to admit it. The man standing before me, so utterly unremarkable in appearance, exudes a kind of guileless simplicity in his speech and mannerisms that truly reminds me of some great, righteous hero of old. Even now, as he’s about to draw his sword against me, I feel this strange sense of déjà vu—as if I’m the villain, about to be slain by this naive embodiment of justice.
Xue Three’s knees bent slightly. With a flick of his small hands, two Military Daggers appeared in his palms.
Normally, Liang Cheng would be training soldiers, Blind Bei would be handling accounts and reviewing blueprints, Siniang would be training the female agent, Fanli would be chopping wood and hauling bricks, and A Ming would be getting shot at by My lord. Xue Three, on the other hand, fully utilized his ’Dwarf’ innate talents, using his free time to tinker with and devise handy hidden weapons or small armaments. Who knew how many such implements were concealed on his small frame?
Hui Wenzu could leave. It seemed Mr. Chen genuinely intended to let Hui Wenzu go; he wasn’t joking.
But Xue Three and Blind Bei couldn’t leave.
Fanli, that simpleton, had once suggested, "If we ’snap’ My lord, wouldn’t we gain true freedom?"
Perhaps they could immediately shed their restrictions, restore their full power, and instantly reach the pinnacle of their existence. However, according to Murphy’s Law, the most likely outcome was that all seven of them would be obliterated together upon My lord’s death—a collective, sudden demise.
Zheng Fan was unique; Zheng Fan had only one life. You couldn’t just catch another one like a fish to test a theory. There was simply no way to experiment!
No matter how many calculations were made, no matter how many scenarios were simulated, as long as that one dire possibility existed, then for the seven Demon Kings involved, the so-called probability boiled down to only two outcomes: zero or one. There was no room in their hearts for wishful thinking.
For Blind Bei and Xue Three, it wasn’t that they didn’t fear death. What they feared more was dying in a state of confusion, or dying in some ridiculous, laughable manner. Only the weak would entrust their end to fate and the will of Heaven; only the lowly would cling to the hope of some improbable stroke of luck. True Demon Kings should bravely face their own lives.
These words might sound a bit childish, because most people who say such things are merely talking.
At that moment, Xue Three moved.
My lord must be kept for last. If My lord screams ’Ula,’ charges in, and gets himself instantly killed, then Blind Bei and I would be just as frustrated. Blind Bei’s abilities were definitely not suited for leading a charge, so Xue Three knew exactly what he had to do.
His small form blurred, rushing towards Mr. Chen at extreme speed. Xue Three understood he was now facing what was likely a Fifth Rank Sword Cultivator of this world.
The Military Daggers thrust forward.
This wasn’t to say Xue Three’s movements were slow. Rather, in this world, all things are relative. Before Mr. Chen’s sword, Xue Three’s Military Daggers seemed to glide forward as if in slow motion. The rıghtful source is 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝·𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖·𝕟𝕖𝕥
His two Military Daggers locked against the sword’s blade. Xue Three hadn’t even clearly seen Mr. Chen move.
Their eyes met. Mr. Chen’s gaze remained pure and tranquil.
This wasn’t posturing; there wasn’t the slightest hint of pretentiousness about Mr. Chen. He was like the laws engraved on a stone monument—every action, every movement, was utterly methodical and precise.
The sword blade twisted, and an overwhelming force surged forth.
Xue Three was sent flying.
His feet hit the ground first. Sensing the powerful force still coursing through his body, Xue Three, unwilling to bear it rigidly, immediately tucked into a roll. This roll took him tumbling all the way behind Zheng Fan. CRACK! CRACK! Floor tiles shattered under him as he went. But as soon as he came to a stop, Xue Three was back on his feet, though his face was battered and bruised.
Fighting isn’t a beauty contest.
Xue Three could have tried to stand his ground, but the unspent force would have undoubtedly injured his internal organs, likely causing him to spit mouthfuls of blood. That sort of thing usually only happened in television dramas, where characters seemed willing to suffer injury just to preserve their image.
Xue Three didn’t care about saving face. He’d rather look unsightly, tumbling and rolling to disperse the force. He’d rather appear a battered mess if it meant preserving his strength for a second charge.
"You’re an excellent assassin. Far better than them," Mr. Chen stated.
He was likely referring to the assassins who had previously come to kill Zheng Fan.
Hearing this, Xue Three managed a grin despite his bruised and swollen face. "You know," he retorted, "if my strength weren’t currently suppressed, I’d be the one telling you: ’You’re an excellent Sword Cultivator.’"
Mr. Chen remained unmoved and stated calmly, "I will only kill Zheng Fan. Next time, I will not hold back."
"Pah!" Xue Three spat. "As if I need you to hold back! Stop acting so damned self-important! Don’t think for a second I don’t know how pleased you are with yourself saying that!"
Mr. Chen shook his head slightly. "I do not enjoy killing," he said. "Killing is wrong."
"And I’m not going to bother asking why you still insist on killing My lord," Xue Three shot back, "because I already know your answer: ’Some problems can only be solved by killing.’"
Hearing this, Mr. Chen’s mouth fell slightly agape. "I am quite satisfied with that answer," he said. "If someone asks me that question next time, may I borrow your words?"