Confrontation

The young man shook his head and sighed, no longer arguing with Bai Zongnan.

"You..."

"Enough. Go back to your room for now. I have something to take care of and I'll be back soon." The young man patted his backside and walked away, leaving Bai Zongnan standing alone in the wind, utterly bewildered. What in the world was going on? How could a monk say something like that?

"I will have my revenge!"

...

"Ha! So the bandits really are here!"

"Quick, catch them!"

A thunderous shout sounded from afar, and soon an old man with a white beard appeared, leading several guards in pursuit of a group of men clad in black robes.

"Hmph!" Suddenly, a man in white robes snorted coldly and shouted to the black-robed men behind him, "Brothers, luck is with us today—we've stumbled upon fat sheep!"

The black-robed men halted, grinning ferociously. "Excellent! At last, a proper feast!"

Though all appeared to be young men around twenty years of age, their eyes now gleamed with bloodlust, and an overwhelming aura of malice radiated from them.

"Don’t come any closer! We are officials of the court!" The old man with the white beard was terrified, trembling as he retreated. Though he had some martial skill, he rarely had cause to use it.

"Haha! We don’t care who you are—today, you’re all dead!" The black-robed men were utterly arrogant.

"You... You monsters! I am a court official! How dare you lay hands on me?" the old man roared in fury.

"Heh, we don't care what title you bear. We'll kill you all the same."

Showing not the slightest fear, the black-robed men rushed forward.

The white-bearded elder, more a frail scholar than a fighter, was no match for these savage assailants. In moments, he was struck down.

"Monsters! You're too cruel!" he wailed as blood soaked his body.

"Dealing with greedy men like you requires a little cruelty," one of them sneered, their faces cold and mocking.

"You... You..." The old man squeezed his eyes shut in despair.

He could feel death approaching.

...

At that moment, a resounding voice rang out: "Stop!"

"Who’s there!" The black-robed men tensed, scanning the surroundings, but saw no one.

"It’s me." Bai Zongnan stepped leisurely from the shadows, a faint smile on his lips. "You lot got your money. Why must you kill every last soul?"

"You’re with these fools?" The men regarded Bai Zongnan curiously, surprise on their faces.

"Fools..." Bai Zongnan’s smile faded slightly.

They seemed sensitive to that insult. Small wonder—such a name carried many implications.

"Haha! So, ‘Fool’ is a name you gave yourself? That’s amusing," said a burly black-robed man, rubbing his bald head. His eyes rolled about, giving him a simple, silly look—but his tone was openly provocative.

"Enough talk, kill him!" another black-robed figure growled.

"Heh! Boy, if you know what’s good for you, run along. Otherwise, you may not even get the chance!" the man jeered.

"Too noisy." Bai Zongnan curled his lip. "I’ll give you three seconds. One, two, three."

With the final word, Bai Zongnan lunged forward. His arms swept out, and with a double strike, sent two black-robed men flying.

"What!" The remaining six were stunned. None of them had expected Bai Zongnan to be so formidable.

"Not bad for internal strength," Bai Zongnan murmured, glancing at his palms. "But it’s too shallow, the foundation is weak—must have been built up with spirit herbs."

"Still, not terrible. Seventh rank Martial Apprentice isn’t exactly weak."

Seventh rank Martial Apprentice—a level sufficient to stand in the martial world, though still not worth much in his eyes.

"Who are you? Why meddle in our affairs?" The black-robed man was wary; he could feel the yawning gulf in power between himself and this young monk.

"You don’t need to know who I am," Bai Zongnan replied coolly. "I just can’t stand bullies picking on an old man. So, I’ll kill the lot of you."

"Boy, don’t get cocky. We’re all—argh!" A black-robed man tried to threaten him, but Bai Zongnan simply kicked him in the chest, sending him crashing through several trees to the riverbank, where he lost consciousness.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

He smashed through tree after tree before finally coming to rest, out cold.

"Damn it! There’s more of us—why should we be afraid? Get him, kill this little bastard!" the remaining black-robed men shouted.

Their weapons were all close-combat arms—no swords, but daggers, axes, clubs, bows, even a spiked mace and a flail amongst them.

Clearly, they were prepared for hand-to-hand fighting.

"Courting death!"

Bai Zongnan snorted, his body turning into a streak of light. His speed was like lightning, blindingly fast.

With a sickening sound, he appeared beside one black-robed man, whose neck suddenly bore a fist-sized hole, blood spurting as he collapsed.

"Damn!" The others panicked, scattering to evade him, but Bai Zongnan’s assault only grew fiercer. In a single exchange, four more fell.

These black-robed men were skilled—out in the world, they’d have been considered martial masters. But against Bai Zongnan, whose body was tempered by the Iron Shirt and Marrow-Transforming Sutra, they were nothing.

It was like dry leaves facing a raging storm.

"Such speed!"

"Is he really just an ordinary man?"

"How can his movement be so strange?" The remaining five were filled with dread, knowing they’d met a true monster.

Yet they had no choice but to fight for their lives.

"Die!" one of them roared, swinging a spiked mace at Bai Zongnan.

"Tricks for children," Bai Zongnan sneered, slapping the weapon aside with such force that agony shot through the attacker’s hand, sending the mace flying.

An instant later, a cold gleam flashed; an arrow pierced the man’s throat. He crumpled, dead in a heartbeat.

One move—just one!

The other four stared in terror.

This man was simply too strong. There was no way they could stand against him.