The guard, a man named Zhao, didn't panic. He sneered. "A cripple holding a sword is still a cripple. You think killing Zhang in the dark makes you a warrior? He was always careless."
Zhao stomped the ground, dust rising around his boots. He circulated his Qi. His muscles bulged, tearing slightly at the seams of his uniform. This was the hallmark of the Rock-Crushing Fist style, a low-tier martial art provided to guards.
"Die!" Zhao roared, charging forward. His spear thrust out like a viper, aiming straight for Han Feng's heart.
It was fast. Faster than the rat.
But to Han Feng, the spear tip seemed to wobble in the air. He could see the trajectory. He could see the shift in Zhao's weight before the thrust even fully extended.
Left.
Han Feng didn't block. Blocking a Level 3 attack with Level 2 strength would shatter his wrist. Instead, he swayed his body to the left.
The spear tip grazed his ribs, tearing his rags and drawing a thin line of blood.
Close.
"You dodged?" Zhao was shocked. He pulled the spear back for a sweep, but Han Feng had already closed the distance.
Han Feng didn't know any sword arts. He had never been taught the Han Clan's "Cloud Severing Sword." So he used the sword like a butcher's cleaver.
He chopped down at Zhao's exposed shoulder.
Clang!
Zhao reacted instinctively, raising the metal shaft of his spear to block. The impact sent a shockwave through Han Feng's arms. He was weaker. In a contest of strength, he would lose.
"Hah! Weak!" Zhao laughed, pushing Han Feng back. He spun the spear, the heavy wood shaft slamming into Han Feng's stomach.
Han Feng coughed blood and flew backward, hitting the cave wall. The pain was blinding.
System Alert: Rib fracture detected. Essence required for repair.
"You got lucky, kid," Zhao smirked, walking over slowly. "But luck runs out."
Han Feng wiped the blood from his lip. He looked at Zhao, and then he smiled. It was a terrifying, blood-stained smile.
"Who said I was relying on luck?"
Zhao frowned. He raised his spear for the finishing blow.
Han Feng opened his left hand. The three Spirit Stones he had looted from Overseer Liu were resting in his palm.
"Devour," he whispered.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
The three stones shattered instantly into dust. A massive surge of pure, unadulterated spiritual energy rushed into Han Feng's arm.
Usually, a cultivator would need hours to meditate and absorb the energy from a Spirit Stone. Doing it instantly was suicide; the violent energy would explode their meridians.
But the Akashic Mycelium didn't care about safety. It was a bottomless pit.
The energy surged into the Root, and the Root spat it back out as raw power.
[ High-Concentration Energy Detected. ] [ Temporary Burst Mode Activated. ]
Han Feng's eyes glowed with a ghostly silver light. The veins on his face bulged.
Zhao hesitated. "What the hell are y—"
Han Feng moved.
This time, he was a blur. He didn't dodge. He stepped inside the guard's reach. Zhao thrust the spear, but Han Feng caught the shaft with his bare left hand.
Sizzle.
The wood of the spear smoked where Han Feng touched it.
With a roar, Han Feng yanked the spear, pulling Zhao off balance. With his right hand, he drove the broadsword forward.
Not a slash. A thrust.
The tip of the sword pierced through Zhao's leather armor, through the ribs, and out the back.
Zhao gasped, his eyes wide with disbelief. He looked down at the sword in his chest. "How..."
Han Feng leaned in close, his silver eyes burning. "The Han Feng you knew died in that mine."
He twisted the blade.
Zhao slumped forward, dead.
Han Feng released the spear and let the body fall. The burst of energy from the Spirit Stones faded, leaving him gasping for air, his body aching all over. That was risky. If he had taken one more second, his meridians might have burst from the overload.
He quickly knelt beside Zhao and placed his hand on the corpse. He couldn't waste this. A Level 3 cultivator's essence was a feast.
As the energy flowed into him, repairing his cracked rib and settling into his Dantian, a notification pinged in his mind.
[ Human Essence Absorbed. ] [ Memory Fragment Detected: "Rock-Crushing Fist" (Incomplete). ] [ Do you wish to archive and deduce? ]
Han Feng's eyes lit up. Memory fragments?
"Deduce," he commanded.
His mind went blank for a second. In his mental space, he saw a spectral figure practicing a punching technique. It was clumsy and full of errors—Zhao's understanding of the technique was mediocre.
But then, the white roots of the Mycelium wrapped around the spectral figure. They corrected the stance. They adjusted the breathing. They perfected the flow.
[ Deduction Complete. ] [ Technique Acquired: "Iron-Breaking Fist" (Enhanced Version of Rock-Crushing Fist). ] [ Grade: Low-Yellow Tier -> High-Yellow Tier. ]
Han Feng stood up. He threw a punch into the empty air. A sharp crack echoed, like a whip breaking the sound barrier.
He hadn't just stolen their life. He had stolen their Kung Fu, and he had made it better.
He quickly looted the two guards, finding five more Spirit Stones and a map of the surrounding forest.
He stepped out of the cave exit.
Above him, the moon hung high and full. Before him lay the Endless Beast Mountain Range. To the south was the Azure Empire and the High-Cloud Han Clan.
Han Feng took a deep breath of the cold night air.
"Uncle," he said softly. "Wash your neck and wait for me."
He turned and vanished into the shadowed treeline of the forest. The hunt had begun