SWORD OF THE DEMON WOLF

The Pair of Mist Swordsmen

Scarface felt there was no need to hand the sacred weapon over to his father—he would use it for himself. With it, his power would grow rapidly, and he could overthrow his father from his position as leader of the Mountain Eagle Sect.

In a single breath, the son of the Mountain Eagle Sect leader lunged at Xiao Chen with incredible speed. His fingers, shaped like claws, slashed continuously toward his opponent. Xiao Chen immediately felt that this opponent was slightly tougher than the three he had already defeated.

“Mountain Eagle Hunter!”

Scarface moved as if possessed by the spirit of an eagle. His body darted and leapt at Xiao Chen, who kept evading his strikes. The curly-haired man gave Xiao Chen no chance to counterattack, launching blow after blow as if tireless.

Feeling mocked by the young man’s constant evasions, Scarface grew increasingly agitated. His strikes either met Xiao Chen’s defense or sliced through empty air.

“Stop dodging, you brat—attack me!” he shouted furiously.

“How could I attack when you’re swinging around wildly like a bull who just caught another bull with his wife?” Xiao Chen shot back casually, chuckling at his own odd metaphor. After all, since when did bulls have wives?

Scarface roared in anger, his fingers tensing like steel. “Insolent brat! How dare you compare me to a bull!”

Without another word, the muscular man charged again, but this time his attacks were less reckless. He deliberately slowed, creating openings as though to tempt Xiao Chen to strike back, intending to lure him into lowering his guard.

But Xiao Chen had already read through his strategy. Instead of falling into the trap, he remained calm, observing and searching for weak points—just as Zhang Wei had taught him.

“Coward! I’ve already given you the chance to strike, yet you refuse!” Scarface barked, stopping momentarily, his chest heaving rapidly as his breath came in gasps.

“Why are you so stupid? This is a fight, not a sparring match. Why should you decide what I do? If you’re already tired, better go home and let your wife massage you,” Xiao Chen sneered.

Scarface’s rage exploded. He felt utterly humiliated by the young man’s words. Without thinking further, he poured all his remaining strength into another fierce assault, determined to crush Xiao Chen as quickly as possible.

His claws struck out again and again, dozens of swipes aimed at breaking Xiao Chen’s guard. But instead, Scarface unknowingly left his own defenses wide open.

Xiao Chen seized the chance. With blinding speed, he closed in, cutting off Scarface’s movements and delivering a flurry of strikes.

“AAARGH!”

Scarface screamed in agony as his body slammed into the cliff face. Pain tore through his chest and stomach from Xiao Chen’s strikes, and his back throbbed from the impact of the rock wall. His body went limp, powerless.

The son of the Mountain Eagle Sect leader could hardly believe it—only two clean blows from Xiao Chen, and he was already completely incapacitated.

“I’ll let you live this time. Leave this place at once and never return. If I ever see you here again, I’ll crush your skull myself,” Xiao Chen warned coldly. He had no intention of killing, for he felt these four attackers had not committed a crime deserving of death.

Scarface struggled to his feet, his entire body wracked with pain. Without a word of farewell, he staggered away, not even glancing at his three unconscious companions.

Once Scarface disappeared, Xiao Chen raised his gaze to the top of the cliff. During the fight, he had noticed two figures watching from above.

“Whoever you are up there—come down! Or I’ll climb up and throw you down myself!” he shouted.

Two men in black stepped out from behind the trees, standing at the cliff’s edge, glaring down at Xiao Chen.

“You brat! Even if you managed to defeat that fool and his three friends, you’re no match for the two of us!” yelled the taller, lanky one.

With light, effortless leaps, the pair descended, landing almost silently before Xiao Chen.

“I don’t want to fight you. Whatever you’re looking for isn’t here. Leave this place immediately,” Xiao Chen warned.

“Hahahaha!” the tall, lanky man burst out laughing. “This brat dares to drive away the Pair of Mist Swordsmen? If you’re so eager to die, we’ll gladly grant your wish!”

“Don’t kill him yet! He hasn’t told us where the sacred weapon is,” growled his partner, a short but muscular man.

“You’re right, Qian Hao. Let’s squeeze the truth from him first. Then we can kill him.”

Xiao Chen chuckled lightly, covering his mouth with his hand.

“What are you laughing at, brat? Nothing here is funny!” Qian Hao snapped.

“Your name is funny,” Xiao Chen replied with a smirk. “How fitting for someone short and stocky like you. Back in my village, people with your build were also called Qian Hao.”

“You bastard! You dare insult me? Tell me where the sacred weapon is—you must know!” Qian Hao roared furiously.

“I already told you, there’s no sacred weapon here. You’ve come to the wrong place. And even if there was one, I would never hand it over to the likes of you.”

The Mist Swordsmen’s eyes widened with fury. Violence was clearly the only way to pry information from Xiao Chen.

“Mo Lin, teach him a lesson! Let him feel what real pain is,” Qian Hao ordered arrogantly.

“With pleasure. Sit back and enjoy watching me break him,” Mo Lin replied with a cold grin.

Qian Hao chuckled and walked toward a boulder ten meters away, taking a seat to watch.

“Prepare yourself, brat. I’ll make sure you suffer long before you die!” Mo Lin threatened as he steadied his stance, his breath heavy with murderous intent.