Chapter 3: Clash of Blades

Yuren Yan spoke slowly, “It seems you didn’t take my words to heart. I told you, the next time we meet, I’ll kill you.”

Qian Ye frowned, unhurriedly took off his backpack, tossed it aside, placed his assault rifle by his feet, and then stood still, saying to Yuren Yan, “I didn’t expect you to be so impatient.”

“Just passing by. But since I’ve run into you, I can’t pretend I didn’t see you. So it’s fate, I suppose. Do you want a few minutes to write your will?”

“The word ‘will’ has never existed in my dictionary; maybe you’ll find it useful.” Qian Ye drew out his military knife from the sheath at his back. The blade shimmered with a silver light, the remnants of the silver liquid from a previous battle with the Blood Clan.

Yuren Yan glanced at the blade, his smile chilling to the bone, “Aren’t you afraid of cutting yourself with that knife?”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Qian Ye pulled out a pair of black tactical gloves, put them on, and gripped the military knife firmly.

“If you come back with me…”

Qian Ye immediately cut him off, “Impossible!”

“I wasn’t suggesting it either. Then let’s begin!” Yuren Yan shook his arms, and two handleless, narrow short blades slid out of his sleeves into his hands.

Qian Ye took a deep breath, stepping back half a step, and as his left foot hit the ground, a muffled thud echoed, as if the entire alley trembled. The ground beneath Qian Ye’s feet cracked and extended outward.

A flicker of surprise passed through Yuren Yan’s eyes, gaining a new understanding of Qian Ye’s prime force. He darted forward, diving at an angle to seize the initiative. His hands swung down heavily, a flash of cold light between fingers, aimed straight for Qian Ye’s neck.

Qian Ye, after stepping back, stood still, raising his left arm to block while his right hand, holding the military knife, stabbed back towards Yuren Yan’s chest like lightning!

This was a move that would harm both. Yuren Yan’s tall figure contorted at an impossible angle, taking a step back and retreating several meters, dodging Qian Ye’s counterattack. Qian Ye did not pursue, standing still, waiting silently.

Yuren Yan paused for a moment, then pounced again, retreating and lunging once more.

The two clashed and separated, Yuren Yan’s movements incredibly swift and eerie, his long limbs making him resemble a giant spider, giving him a natural advantage in reach.

Qian Ye stood with his legs slightly apart, stable and patient, not initiating but countering fiercely each time Yuren Yan lunged, always aiming for a mutual injury.

Occasionally, they engaged in direct confrontations, often resulting in a draw, which further surprised Yuren Yan.

Yuren Yan suddenly circled Qian Ye like a whirlwind, his blades dancing in his hands. In the dim light, the sharp edges of the blades created a phantom of cold gleams, like butterflies fluttering, and in an instant, Qian Ye’s body was covered in dozens of cuts! The more he fought, the more excited he became, emitting sharp, piercing whistles involuntarily.

Qian Ye remained silent, his face expressionless, as if the wounds were not on his body. He maintained his rhythm, each strike quick, precise, and ruthless, without any flourish. This was the essence of combat training: being faster, more accurate, and more brutal. If one achieves these, winning is almost certain.

A graduate of the Yellow Springs, as long as they haven’t fallen, can potentially land a fatal blow.

Yuren Yan struck Qian Ye multiple times, while Qian Ye managed only two strikes, one penetrating Yuren Yan’s abdomen and the other nearly severing his left hand.

Their fight in the alley attracted several mercenaries, who gathered at the alley’s entrance, laughing and pointing. Clearly, they had been drinking too much.

Yuren Yan’s pupils turned into dangerous vertical slits, and he suddenly abandoned Qian Ye, charging into the group of mercenaries like a whirlwind. His blades sliced through the air, drawing arcs that enveloped all the mercenaries, showering the area with blood, flesh, and severed limbs.

In a single breath, Yuren Yan butchered the mercenaries, including two second-level warriors.

The street erupted in cries, people scattering. No one dared to challenge Yuren Yan after seeing such brutality.

Yuren Yan, feeling better, shook the blood from his blades and turned back to Qian Ye, who had drawn the Butcher.

“Is a gun useful in this kind of fight?” Yuren Yan sneered.

But his smile soon faded as Qian Ye, instead of shooting, engaged him in another close combat. At the height of the fight, Qian Ye’s wrist moved, and the Butcher roared, releasing a yellow light that hit Yuren Yan’s thigh, reducing his speed by thirty percent.

Yuren Yan, a skilled gunfighter, realized he was no match for Qian Ye. Qian Ye wielded the primordial force gun with uncanny skill, using it to bash, stab, and release bursts of force.

Qian Ye was like a highly resilient spring, the harder he was pressed, the stronger his rebound. The gap in their combat skills gradually became evident.

Qian Ye remained calm and consistent, regardless of his injuries. Yuren Yan, however, began to show signs of strain, especially in his injured leg and hand.

“Do you even feel pain?” Yuren Yan roared.

“I treat this body as if it’s not mine,” Qian Ye replied coolly, abruptly slashing the tip of his blade past Yuren Yan’s nose. If not for his agility, Yuren Yan would have been hit.

“Monster! Madman!” Yuren Yan, aware of the pain Qian Ye must be enduring, cursed.

“Thank you for the compliment,” Qian Ye responded sincerely, then suddenly bent down, picked up the assault rifle, and swung it like a club, nearly hitting Yuren Yan’s head.

After exchanging more wounds, Yuren Yan retreated, creating distance. He looked at his abdomen, where two deep cuts, one slicing through his intestines, were. Taking a deep breath, he closed the wounds temporarily with his abdominal muscles.

He stared at Qian Ye, saying, “Next time, you won’t be so lucky.”

“Next time?” Qian Ye frowned.

“Of course! It’s an order, and I’m a soldier,” Yuren Yan said, turning to leave.

Qian Ye stood still, watching him go.

As Yuren Yan exited the alley, he retracted his short blades, replacing them with two new military-style daggers, which danced in his fingers with a silvery glow. They were secret silver weapons. If he had used them against Qian Ye, the battle would have been over much quicker.

Similarly, if Qian Ye had twisted his blade after piercing Yuren Yan’s abdomen, it would have caused severe damage. The quick, shallow wounds were not serious for a sixth-level fighter like Yuren Yan.

Both seemed to hold back, though they fought fiercely. What would happen next was uncertain. Qian Ye’s strength lay in long-range sniping, while Yuren Yan excelled in stealth and ambush. They should not have been fighting in close combat.

Yet, as Yuren Yan said, it was an order, and he was a soldier. Qian Ye, a former soldier, understood the weight of those words.

Qian Ye stood still for a moment, collecting himself, then picked up his backpack and assault rifle, walking slowly out of the alley.

Just as he exited, a mercenary reached out to stop him, shouting, “Stop!”

Qian Ye turned to see several mercenaries gathering, with more approaching. The one stopping him was a third-level warrior.

“What is it?” Qian Ye replied coldly.

“Tell us! Was the guy who killed our men just now related to you?” the mercenary demanded, emboldened by the increasing number of allies. Qian Ye appeared to be only a third-level fighter, matching his own level.

Qian Ye found it odd. After seeing Yuren Yan’s actions, did these mercenaries really dare to challenge him? A sixth-level Yuren Yan, likely a colonel, could easily crush them.

But as he saw their greedy eyes on his weapons, he understood. They wanted his gear.

Qian Ye suddenly drew the Butcher, handing it butt-first, saying, “This gun was used by that person.”

The mercenary, surprised by Qian Ye’s cooperation, reached out, saying, “I’ll check it—”

Before he could finish, Qian Ye’s wrist snapped, and the Butcher’s steel grip smashed into the mercenary’s face.

With a crack, the mercenary’s face caved in, and he fell backward, silent.

Qian Ye spun the Butcher, aiming it at the remaining mercenaries.

“Anyone else want to step up?” Qian Ye asked coldly.

The mercenaries, faced with the loaded Butcher, turned pale. A few meters away, the gun could turn their armor and bodies into shrapnel. Their third-level captain was down, and these lower-level warriors felt helpless.

Despite their numbers, they hesitated, forming a slow, tight circle around Qian Ye. The Butcher, though powerful, couldn’t fire repeatedly. One shot and it was useless, like a blunt weapon.

A third-level handgun, a second-level assault rifle, and a bulging backpack—these enticed the mercenaries. They could be bandits or thieves, and a third-level weapon made even city crime tempting.

Unbeknownst to them, Qian Ye’s heart raced, over 300 beats per minute. The intense pulsing made him feel parched and restless, as if a beast within him was roaring, struggling to break free.

Nearby, the blood and corpses from Yuren Yan’s earlier slaughter taunted Qian Ye. The thick scent of blood was like a siren to a ravenous beast. Qian Ye’s breathing grew heavier, his fingers trembling slightly. Only his long-time classmates from the Yellow Springs would recognize this slight loss of composure.

Looking at the mercenaries, Qian Ye saw lambs. He was thirsty, not just in his throat but everywhere, burning with pain. He wanted to pin them down, drain their blood, and show them true agony and despair!