Cultivation Chaos: Superheroes In The Realm Of Immorals

Spark spent the rest of the noon straightening the plan and reconditioning the agreements.

He had assumed the old miser would give him trouble during the whole process, but fortunately, Cai'er was present.

And as it turned out, the man couldn't say no to his daughter. He ended up nodding throughout the whole process, not disputing where she agreed.

So the timing of the attack was arranged. Since Slade and his crew resided at the outskirts of the Barren Deserts, they were going to use the opportunity to escort one of the elder's subsidiary companies, which would be heading out for trade next week.

Using them as bait, Spark would make his attack. It was agreed that he would act alone, and the only support he would be getting from them was the artifact armor.

As for the sharing of the loot, Spark didn't really need much, so he just upped the price to 25%.

By the time they were all done, it was nighttime—and it was the four moons' time to reign…

"I would have loved to see you off, but with the recent murder spree of the previous night, my father is adamant about not letting me leave these gates the moment the sun sets," Cai'er explained as she stopped by the mansion gates.

Spark nodded. Honestly, he preferred going home alone. "Then we'll see each other a week from now, miss," he bade farewell and went on his way.

Unlike the previous night, where one could still find stalls and quite a few people roaming the streets, this night was different.

The streets were empty. One would be hard-pressed to find a beggar, even if they looked for one.

And this was all because of the incident the citizens of the Yang Empire woke up to that morning. Even after investigation there was no clue as to who did it, and the city guards had yet to call a curfew—as they couldn't until the case became a recurring pattern—

After seeing the detailed scene of each murder, no one wanted to take a chance and end up being next.

The people had even come up with all sorts of theories on who did it, and the leading one was that a demonic path cultivator had made their way into the empire and was killing people for cultivation purposes.

Though many people had different ideas, they all agreed on the same name for the perpetrator: Bloodied Shadow.

And right now, Bloodied Shadow was walking his way back to his residence—unaware of the silent shadows trailing him. The irony!

One couldn't blame Spark. His physical condition right now was actually quite bad. All his focus was put into walking, and his senses were dull.

And the fact that these shadowy figures were stealth masters didn't help. He probably wouldn't sense them even if he was focusing—unless he made use of his ability.

If one were to take an aerial view, one would notice these silent moving shadows slowly encircling him.

"Are you sure this is a martial artist?" the lieutenant of the Dragon Claw whispered his doubts while silently trailing Spark in formation.

"Huh? How would I know? Why ask?" the captain replied with a question of his own. But unlike the lieutenant, the captain's lips never moved—his voice was projected straight to the mind.

"I asked because something's off. The way he carries himself—in particular, his gait—is too normal for him to be an expert," the lieutenant pointed out.

The captain glanced at Spark's back and shrugged. "Why do we care? Doesn't that make things easier for us? And remember, the information stated he was seriously injured."

The lieutenant couldn't help but agree with this logic, but he still felt uncomfortable. It was as though instead of setting an ambush, he himself was walking into one.

Noticing the doubt on his lieutenant's face, the captain assured, "Bowen, be rest assured—this is just a lone injured martial artist. If we can't handle him, then we might as well strip ourselves of the title God-Slayer Corp."

This time, his voice wasn't projected to the lieutenant alone—it was projected to the whole forty-some squad members.

And as they all maneuvered across various rooftops silently in the dead of night, their eyes shone with conviction.

Yes—they were God-Slayers.

They were bred to slay immortals.

What was a mere martial artist that they couldn't handle?

After a few seconds, their encirclement was complete the Captain gave a signal for the ambush to commence.

By now, the lieutenant had gotten a read on Spark's movement patterns and walking steps, so he could easily predict his path. He pulled out a toothpick-thin bamboo stick from his robes and blew on one end, aiming right at Spark's predestined path.

A hair-thin needle whistled out of the other end, tearing through the wind silently. The pointed edge of the needle glinted a dangerous, writhing purple under the silver illumination of the four moons.

And just as it arrived at its destination, it pierced through Spark's neck and jutted out the other end, continuing unimpeded into the ground.

The lieutenant frowned at this sight. That wasn't supposed to happen. The needle wasn't supposed to pass through that freely. Except… it's a phantom.

He squinted his eyes carefully and measured Spark's figure, which had stopped moving by now. 'No, it's not… then how?'

Spark stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes trained on the hair-thin hole in the ground. 'Who was that… why am I being targeted? I can't imagine that I've offended anybody.'

He focused on his senses—and got nothing. His face turned ugly. This wasn't a good time for him to battle.

The reason he could act so freely the previous night was because he had the element of surprise in his favor. There was also the fact that he singled them out—not attacking them all at once.

He might not agree with Cai'er, but one thing she got right was that he was gravely injured. Too injured to battle at full capacity.

With all these unhealed lacerations running across his body, he was no different than a bucket full of holes. The moment he tried to use output, he would leak all over.

And then there were his cut tendons and severed muscles. One had to remember—every single movement is supported by tendons and muscles. And right now, in his body, at least 60% of them had been severed.

Even if it were a martial artist in his shoes, they would be crippled. There weren't enough functioning systems in the body to facilitate movement.

The reason he was able to move so freely was because of one of the techniques his foster father had ingrained in him since he was young. It was called Greed of Force and Deception of Path.

This was the footwork that helped him avoid the silent needle. By walking in a unique series of disordered steps, it tricks the opponent's brain into seeing you a bit ahead of where you actually are—though that distance is minimal.

It also helped one utilize movement using as little tendon and muscle as possible. This part was meant to help disguise his attacks—hiding how much force they contained—but for now, it was useful in helping him move despite his injury.

Adding to that, he had formed a tiny energy barrier in his brain, isolating his pain receptors—so he was able to move as normally as possible.

But this might not help him today. Because even though he had all these advantages—plus his inherent mutant strength—he was still at a disadvantage.

For starters, he didn't know how many attackers were there. Plus, he didn't know how strong they were.

Though this thought process seemed long, from the firing of the needle to his pause in steps had barely taken two seconds.

A prickling sensation suddenly crept onto his neck, as an intense sense of foreboding overcame his being.

By the time he sensed what was coming, the bandages on his face crumpled as his expression turned ugly. A broadsword was heading swiftly—but silently—for his neck.

Like a guillotine aiming to decapitate a criminal it loomed in quite quickly and inevitably.

'Where the hell did that even come from? Why didn't I sense it?'

This would be the night Spark understood more clearly that this wasn't Earth…

And even the non-cultivators of this realm could be a danger too.