"If Qingzi were in top form, there wouldn’t be much to talk about—we’d just carve him up on the spot..."
Right beside him sat the former number one and number seven from that same leaderboard. Unfortunately, due to acclimatization issues, both were currently in a "crippled" state. Wen Jifei flicked the paper with a finger as he spoke, showing no sign of underestimating their opponent.
If the leaderboard ranking reflected raw combat power, then the notes written beside it showed that this was an opponent whose experience in desperate battles and whose sheer fighting will warranted absolute caution.
This Corpse Man Weize was different from Yu Yindou, whom Wu Xu had run through before, and different from the super brothers of the Qu clan. Those three were from hidden clans; having avoided warfare for so long, their practical combat ability fell below their official combat power tier.
In the same way, Qingzi's and Wu Xu's practical combat ability was usually far higher than their nominal tier. They excelled at desperate, grueling fights, and they always kept trump cards up their sleeves.
As for ganging up on him... the other side probably wouldn't allow it. The intelligence reported that the opposition still had four top-tiers of their own. If they laid all their cards on the table and brawled openly, their side would likely be at a disadvantage.
Wen Jifei looked up, scanned the room, and said, "Xu'er."
"Yeah." Wu Xu nodded and stood up.
"Forget it, not you."
Wu Xu: "..." He sat back down in conflicted frustration.
"Actually, there's nothing to argue about! Me! I'll go," the iron suit spoke up, pointing at itself. "Right now, I'm the strongest here. I'll go chop him down."
Having said that, Rusty Sister turned to glance at Han Qingyu.
Qingzi was using a dark piece of curtain cloth to wrap up his wooden box. Rusty Sister followed suit, tearing down another strip of curtain cloth. As she wrapped it, she muttered under her breath like a student reciting a text:
"*Records of the Grand Historian*: In the year of Renshen, one month later, the ship sailed west across great oceans. Qing and Xu suffered from acclimatization, both rendered useless. From then on, Shen Yixiu reigned strongest in Stream Vanguard."
Han Qingyu and Wu Xu: "..."
In truth, no matter how dissatisfied the two of them felt, there really was no disputing the fact at the moment. Wen Jifei let his gaze linger on her for a second before turning toward Zhu Jiaming.
"How about I go test the waters first?" Zhu Jiaming volunteered.
"Much obliged, Little Prince," Wen Jifei said, moved.
"Think nothing of it. We're all brothers and sisters here."
Zhu Jiaming spoke calmly and glanced at Rusty Sister. Having known them for so long, he had figured it out long ago: this suit of armor before him—routinely disdained, cuffed on the helmet, and tossed around in daily life—was never actually allowed to take reckless risks.
So he wouldn't be able to shirk this anyway. Since he couldn't avoid it, he might as well volunteer.
*Once I show my face and those girls at the brothel realize that the guy who sits across from them at the alley entrance is actually a top-tier combatant... what will they feel?! Ha,* Zhu Jiaming mused to himself.
Besides, finding the Bones of Eternal Life was not something a handful of people could accomplish alone. Relying solely on themselves, they probably wouldn't even be able to unearth the people on the list.
The discussion came to an end, and the plan was settled. Time slipped slowly by...
Night fell quietly over the city.
***
Under the blanket of night, in an old building behind the main street of the Third District, a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy carrying a worn-out source energy apparatus struggled up to the fifth floor. He turned around and pulled up two companions of similar age.
"Can we really watch, Brother Xiaoshan?" one of them asked. Messy short hair, a dirty little face—yet the voice belonged to a little girl.
She carried a black wooden box on her back to pretend she had an apparatus too, her expression looking rather uneasy.
"Don't worry. Corpse Man Weize said he's only here to chop Dao Dali tonight," the other boy chimed in. His eyes burned with excitement as he turned to look down at the street illuminated by yellow streetlights.
Just as Lynne had once told Han Qingyu, the youths of this city—rich or poor—were filled with a longing for martial prowess and heroism.
This yearning surpassed anywhere else in the world; nearly every youngster here harbored dreams of becoming a legend.
"Yeah, as long as it doesn't turn into a chaotic melee, we don't have to be afraid," the one called Brother Xiaoshan said, pointing downward. "Look, we're not the only ones. There are plenty of people down there, standing way closer than us."
It wasn't even seven o'clock yet, but on the rooftops and within the jagged buildings lining both sides of the street, a crowd had already gathered in secret.
Some came because they cared about their bets.
Others came to witness a clash of masters. Tonight, Corpse Man Weize was confirmed to fight, and Dao Dali would most likely meet him in person. A showdown at this level was rare; it was a thrilling spectacle, but even more so a prime opportunity to learn and comprehend.
Of course, among the figures cloaked in darkness, there were also those who had come out of concern or worry.
The woman who ran the convenience store worried someone might swipe the cigarettes she had left outside her counter. Glancing around, she was relieved to see that no one had actually rushed right out to the curb.
Ao Yong and Qian Daofeng hadn't gone to work tonight; they had come here as well. It had been four days since they last saw Ah Jing and the others.
"Brother Daofeng, do you think Ah Jing really is Qing... that man?" Ao Yong asked softly, his palms sweating inside his clenched fists.
Both of them knew that the one fighting tonight would most likely not be Boss Dao... If it was Ah Jing and his people, unless Ah Jing truly was that man, they would be in grave danger.
Corpse Man Weize's reputation was simply too terrifying.
Qian Daofeng shook his head hesitantly. "I don't know either."
Compared to when he had placed that gamble back then, he seemed to lack any confidence now.
Behind them, two girls with lowered heads hurried past the stairwell, heading up toward the roof.
"Is it really okay for you to sneak out?" Jenna tugged at Lynne. "Uncle Charles told me to keep an eye on you, but you..."
"Uncle Al told me to keep an eye on you too. And you were the one who said you wanted to come," Lynne retorted, turning to keep climbing.
"I only said I wanted to come because you asked me first! Who knew you were being serious?" Jenna chased after her helplessly.
Tonight, their elders and everyone from the Berlik Gang had been summoned to guard the base camp of the major factions. The two of them were supposed to hide in the basement, yet they had snuck out on their own.
"Do you really care that much about him? Just because he looks a little bit like The King?!" Jenna pressed on once they reached the rooftop.
Lynne hesitated and didn't answer.
"Actually, we won't even be able to see him like this," Jenna said, her eyes shifting to the street.
At the same time, an outcry rose from below: "They're here!"
Amidst howling winds and rushing momentum, elite units of the Five Major Factions—hundreds of fighters—appeared at the western intersection of the long street, halting in tight formation.
Immediately, the Wild Band Alliance's thousand-man force emerged in the east, forming their lines in waiting.
Between the two sides lay the empty street under the streetlights, etched with lingering blade scars from days gone by.
"Do you see Weize?"
"Not yet."
"What about Dao Dali?"
"Haven't seen him either. On this side, we can't even tell if the top-tiers who fought the night before last have shown up. Meanwhile, every single top-tier from the Five Major Factions has stepped out openly to hold the line."
*Clang-clatter!* The sound of a blade striking the ground rang out, not overly loud.
The onlookers on the rooftops and inside the buildings along both sides held their breath.
The battle formation of the Five Major Factions parted, and a figure walked out.
Corpse Man Weize strode alone onto the street, dragging behind him a greatblade nearly one point eight meters long. The blade was broad and crude, looking like a rectangular slab of sheet iron cut at a rough slant, with a hilt tacked on.
He was a Caucasian man, standing nearly two meters tall with a mohawk haircut. Bare-chested and heavily muscled, his flesh bore a sickly pallor... to be precise, a pallor approaching that of a corpse.
Chapter 472