Chapter 111: The Mysterious Letter

"Silver?!"

Hearing this, Yang Xing furrowed his brows. It was clear these people had come prepared, as they actually knew the secret shipment he was escorting contained military payroll. Could it be that someone within the courier agency had leaked the news?

There was no time for deeper thought; the two men had already lunged toward him. One of them, his eyes gleaming with a cold, murderous light, slashed his long blade through the air. The sharp whistle of the steel, reminiscent of wailing ghosts, sent a shiver through one's spirit.

Yang Xing countered with a sweeping strike of his own ghost-head saber, which erupted like a flash of red light.

*Clang!*

A harsh, metallic clash rang out. The man holding the long blade felt his arm go numb, and the very blood within his body surged in shock.

The man known as "Old Yu" charged at Yang Xing, his hand transformed into a claw, reaching for Yang Xing’s shoulder.

*Whoosh!*

The claw tore through the air. Had it latched onto his shoulder, the concentrated force of a master’s internal energy would have been enough to rip his entire arm from its socket. Yang Xing twisted his wrist, his ghost-head saber moving with ferocious speed, directly threatening Old Yu’s throat, brow, and heart.

Old Yu was startled, never expecting this young man to fight with such reckless disregard for his own life. If he insisted on tearing off Yang Xing’s arm, he would be run through by the blade. Of course, this was merely his own assumption—even if his hand had connected, it would have been difficult to breach Yang Xing’s Iron Shirt technique.

In the blink of an eye, Old Yu scrambled backward. Yang Xing’s eyes flashed with cold intent, his saber striking out like lightning.

Fast! It was far too fast! Amidst the flickering blade, Yang Xing’s figure blurred, his body seemingly merging with the light of the steel.

"Oh no!"

Old Yu hadn't expected Yang Xing to be this troublesome. He had tried to retreat after his first failed strike, but Yang Xing was relentless, offering no path to survival. Instinctively, Old Yu spun his body to evade the strike, his fingers clawing at Yang Xing’s face. At the same time, the man with the emerald-green eyes rushed in, his blade slashing toward Yang Xing’s waist. Both men fought with vicious, lethal intent.

*Swish! Swish!*

Yang Xing performed a hawk-like somersault, evading their combined assault. While in mid-air, he extended his hand, two steel marbles gripped between his fingers.

*Zip! Zip!*

The marbles flew like bolts of lightning.

*Bang!*

Old Yu, having unleashed all his internal strength and leaving no room for defense, was struck squarely in the brow. His body slumped, and he collapsed to the ground. The master with the long blade leaped away in a panic to avoid the projectiles, but in the next heartbeat, the hair on his arms stood on end.

*Spluck!*

Looking down, he saw a blade had pierced clean through his chest. Blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth as he fell to the ground with a dull thud.

Yang Xing looked toward Tan Donghe, who was locked in a fierce struggle with the black-robed man. The clash of their internal energies was intense; it was clear neither could gain the upper hand.

"Agh!"

At that moment, a shrill scream pierced the air. It was Lu Yan. His head had been crushed by his own hammer, his brains and blood splattering across the floor—a chilling sight. The one who had killed him was another master of the Dan-Jin stage—the one known as Hall Master Fu.

"Brother Zhao, I’m here to help!" Hall Master Fu declared, charging toward Tan Donghe.

"Damn it!" Yang Xing realized the situation was dire. How could Tan Donghe withstand two Dan-Jin masters? Even if he joined the fray, it would be a death sentence.

As expected, with Hall Master and Hall Master Zhao joining forces, the pressure on Tan Donghe intensified, his shouts of defiance growing weaker.

"Quick... go get help!"

Hall Master Fu’s eyes were cold. "You hold Tan Donghe; I’ll go slaughter the people from the Hongyun Courier Agency." He knew that no one could leave tonight. Everyone had to die here.

"Understood!" Hall Master Zhao replied in a low voice.

"Ah San, let's go!" Yang Xing shook his ghost-head saber, pushing his Golden Crow blade technique to the limit. His blade moved like a swift swan; after cutting down three more men in succession, he bolted toward the gate. Ah San, covered in wounds, struggled to keep pace behind him.

Seeing Yang Xing trying to break out, a black-robed man shouted, "The Hall Master has ordered that no one is to be let go!"

*Slash!*

Before the words had faded, Yang Xing’s saber had already descended. The speaker’s head rolled to the ground.

"Where do you think you're going!"

Hall Master Fu swooped in, his palm slamming down toward Yang Xing’s head, the violent energy forming a vortex.

*Thump!*

Yang Xing felt his blood churn. He pushed his Iron Shirt technique to its absolute limit, meeting the strike head-on. The moment their palms collided, an irresistible force surged through him.

*Step, step, step...*

Yang Xing felt his arm go numb, his very blood feeling as if it were burning. Was this the true power of a Dan-Jin master?

"Impressive kid!" Hall Master Fu frowned, surprised the youth had withstood his palm strike. "Go to hell!" He didn't waste another word, lunging in for the kill.

But in the blink of an eye—

*Boom!*

A streak of cold light shot from the distance, the air exploding with the sound of a thunderclap. Yang Xing saw a blur as a long spear struck Hall Master Fu’s body, pinning him against the wall. A single strike had killed a Lower Dan-Jin master!

"Who's there?!" Yang Xing was stunned and looked toward the distance.

The newcomer was an elderly man in his fifties with sharp, spirited eyes. He sat atop a black stallion, dressed in a cyan robe.

"Where is Head Courier Tan?" the old man asked.

At the same time, a desperate, unwilling cry from Tan Donghe echoed from the courtyard, indicating he had been pushed to the edge of death. Without waiting for an answer, the old man reached out, retrieved the spear from Hall Master Fu’s body, and leaped into the courtyard.

The black-robed men swarmed him, but they couldn't even withstand half a move against him. He swept his spear in a wide arc, the internal energy rolling like a river; a dozen black-robed men were caught in the wake, as if swallowed by a green dragon. When the momentum faded, only a dozen corpses remained.

"A Middle Dan-Jin master!" Yang Xing felt a chill of awe. This must be Jiang Changqing, the "Wandering Dragon Spear" and Chief Courier of the Sanhe Courier Agency. But how had he arrived so quickly?

Pondering for a moment, Yang Xing followed Jiang Changqing into the courtyard. Tan Donghe had already been rescued, and Hall Master Zhao was leaning against the wall, severely wounded and disheveled.

Jiang Changqing pointed his spear at him, his voice icy. "Speak! Who are you? What faction is behind you?"

"Behind me?" Hall Master Zhao looked up, sneering at Jiang Changqing. "Those behind me are a power your Sanhe Courier Agency cannot afford to provoke!"

"Is that so?" Jiang Changqing laughed derisively, thrusting his spear into Hall Master Zhao’s chest. Blood flowed down the shaft. "One last chance. Will you speak or not?"

Hall Master Zhao raised his head, his features twisting in a hideous grimace, and he thrust his chest forward.

*Spluck!*

The spearhead pierced his heart, and Hall Master Zhao died on the spot.