Chapter Nine: Pure Violence

The monster suddenly leapt, spreading its arms wide in midair.

With a sickening splatter, two bandits, knives raised, were driven headfirst into the muddy ground. Their heads were buried deep in the earth, their bodies twisted into grotesque arches. Blood gushed like a spring from the cracks, and though their limbs twitched twice, they soon lay utterly still—clearly beyond saving.

The great monster was none other than Lu Xun.

A terrified, piercing scream shattered the bandits' stupor.

One of the lesser thugs collapsed to the ground, while another turned to flee—only to become a headless corpse, still running. His head, now resembling a wine jar, was gripped in the monster's hand.

The demon crushed the skull effortlessly and his gilded, bestial eyes swept across the bandits.

Geshun, the squad chief, bellowed in rage.

He summoned his meager inner strength, brandishing his spiked club to block the beast.

A spiked club was a rare weapon among wanderers—heavy, unwieldy, and useless without tremendous strength. But Geshun was different: eight feet tall, born with monstrous power, his temper fierce since childhood and his cruelty only growing with age. He had crippled and even killed men with his bare hands. When the local magistrate sentenced him, he slaughtered the constables sent to arrest him and fled to Dragon Mountain to become a bandit.

Even among outlaws, he was exceptional. Upon joining, he quickly replaced the former squad chief as the chief's most trusted right hand. For years, his strength had enabled him to pillage, burn, and kill at will. His spiked club weighed sixty pounds; those struck by it had their bones and blood ground into mud.

Whether monster or hero, anyone facing such a brute was doomed.

No one feared anymore.

No one could best the squad chief.

Like a human tower, the chief swung his club.

A howl tore through the night.

For the first time, the mighty Geshun, whose waist alone was over two feet wide, toppled over, clutching his chest and writhing in agony. No one had ever heard him scream like that—louder, more piercing, and filled with excruciating pain. He must have been suffering terribly to make such a sound.

In his terror-shrunk pupils, a monstrous clawed foot descended, and his voice was cut off as sharply as a chicken or a duck seized by the neck.

Lu Xun, the Five-Pass Monster, leapt into the air.

A wolf among sheep—an orgy of slaughter!

With every movement, the monster reaped one, sometimes several, lives.

"Monster!" someone finally cried out.

For a moment, the sounds of battle ceased.

Even Sun Shen, locked in combat with the priest Song Yuan, could not help but glance back.

Song Yuan leapt away to a safe distance.

He hadn't realized the carnage behind him until now. Corpses littered the field—seasoned bandits broken like newly fired clay pots, shattering at the slightest touch. Some were missing arms, some legs, others were headless bodies sprawled in blood and mud.

Sun Shen's great frosted eyes narrowed to needle points. "A true demon!" he gasped.

The monstrous figure had the arms of an ape, the waist of a wasp, the back of a tiger, and iron claws.

Under the moon, the great demon strode, wielding its power with impunity.

In the blink of an eye, none dared block its path.

Not only were the bandits petrified, even the constables who failed to flee stood with necks rigid, and the scholars huddled together in terror.

Only Cheng Yan, sword in hand, fixed his blazing gaze on the monster's back, not daring to let his attention stray for a moment.

He remembered what his elder had told him: that he lacked a certain spirit, and should visualize the monster wielding violence to master his own.

Now, he saw it firsthand.

It was truly extraordinary!

No wild charges or flustered attacks—only the rawest, most elemental violence.

The bloodthirsty bandits of moments before were reduced to fragile porcelain in an instant.

Each strike brought not screams or wails, but the chilling crack and splinter of bone, so swift the ground was soaked in fresh blood before a groan could escape.

Lu Xun, the Five-Pass Monster, spread his arms and embraced the moonlight.

Clear moonbeams shimmered as if a breeze might stir their surface.

He inhaled the crisp night air, deep as a whale swallowing water.

His swelling chest felt nothing but exhilaration—a vivid reminder of life.

He strode through the mud, his silvery fur gleaming beneath the moon.

No joy or sorrow flickered in his eyes; all seemed mere weeds before him.

Wherever he passed, darkness followed.

He made his way toward the bandit chief Feng Ba, mounted on a tall warhorse.

Sensing danger, the horse snorted and backed up—a beast's instincts keener than any man's, its very bones chilled by fear.

But the armored giant atop it had other plans. He squeezed the horse's flanks with his legs, spurred it on.

"Hyah!"

The steed thundered forward at full speed.

Clinging tight, Feng Ba raised his heavy saber, channeling the horse's power.

As the horse neared the monster, Feng Ba yanked the reins hard. The steed reared, hooves lashing at the seven-foot demon.

A large animal's strength is immense. Each hoof could shatter even the hardest skull.

The monster did not evade, but planted his legs wide and braced, fists shooting forward like dragons to meet the hooves.

With a thunderous crash, Lu Xun's feet sank an inch and a half into the earth.

The horse's forelegs tore from its body, and with a pitiful whinny, it collapsed backward.

Feng Ba, flung from his saddle before he could swing his saber, crashed to the ground. He spat blood, his chest and back crushed inward, his legs twisted like braids by the fallen horse. He tried to rise, failed, and was seized by the monster's armored claw, lifted by the head.

The ape-like demon placed a massive hand on his shoulder.

With a gentle tug, head and neck parted effortlessly.

"How can he resemble the Five-Pass God so closely?"

At last, a constable recognized the monster.

Many had seen the Lord of Five-Pass Mountain while escorting river bandits, even if they hadn't joined the final campaign.

What a terrifying, proud demon he had been.

He had cowed hundreds and stolen the county's tax silver.

Yet this monster had perished at the hands of the Demon-Quelling Captain.

Perhaps this was a mistake—another great demon, merely similar.

Song Yuan licked his parched lips, considering retreat. Ten thousand taels of silver no longer seemed worth the risk, especially with a new monster present—he might end up a sacrifice in the demon's temple before he could defeat Sun Shen.

With this, Song Yuan summoned clouds with a gesture.

"Rise!"

A thick, soaked rope disappeared into the clouds.

With a few nimble steps, Song Yuan climbed halfway up.

Seeing the prime target about to escape, Lu Xun snatched up a wine jar.

"Water Play!"

[Spell: Water Play (Adept Level) (Moonlight)]

The wine within turned into three water arrows.

One embedded itself in the rope but did not break it.

The other two shot toward Song Yuan.

He slashed one apart, but with only two hands, the third struck his robe, making him sway but not fall. A few more steps, and he reached the clouds.

His robe unfurled like a great, gray kite.

Harnessing the rope, Song Yuan pushed the kite with all his might.

The kite vanished into the distant night.

Lu Xun sighed, disappointed. The head he wanted most was the mage's.

This was someone who could rival Sun Shen, not to be underestimated in skill or sorcery.

He might have been as formidable as the Demon-Quelling Captain.

No matter; he had already collected plenty of heads—enough for a heap of ashes.

Approaching Feng Ba's headless corpse, Lu Xun stripped the battered armor, cleansed it with fresh water, and donned it with satisfaction.

Who would have thought a monster would relish wearing armor?

Eradicate evil to its roots!

Lu Xun sniffed the air, then strode straight toward the bandits' stronghold.