23: Chapter 23 Using oneself as a furnace and fire as fuel

If that hoof landed, death would be certain.

The horseshoe was stained with dark red bits of flesh, remnants of the refugee it had just crushed.

The burly man on horseback had a face full of flabby, vicious flesh, and his black armor gleamed coldly in the sunlight; there was not a shred of reverence for life in his eyes, only the pleasure of crushing an ant.

"Get lost! You blind dog!"

The whip lashed out like a snake with a shrill, wind-tearing sound, not aimed at anyone in particular, but meant to scatter this group of "trash" blocking the way.

"Zhao... Deputy Captain Zhao! Please, spare my life!"

Beside him, Master Ling Xu's legs went weak with fear, and he plopped down on his knees into the mud.

This old Daoist had been drifting around the capital for decades, and what he feared most were these black-armored guards responsible for guarding the gates.

Zhao Gang. Deputy Captain of the Capital Guard, notorious for devouring people without spitting out the bones.

Master Ling Xu's cry caused the horse's hoof to veer slightly, missing his head but hovering just three inches from the tip of his nose.

The warhorse snorted, spraying the old Daoist's face with foul-smelling, hot breath.

Zhao Gang pulled on the reins and glanced down at the shivering Master Ling Xu, his mouth curling into a sneer: "Yo, isn't this that swindling old Daoist Ling? What, you haven't died out there yet?"

"Thanks to... thanks to your blessing, Lord Zhao, I managed to save my life." Master Ling Xu kowtowed like he was pounding garlic, his withered, thin hand trembling as he reached into his robe and pulled out two pieces of silver the size of fingernails. "My Lord, please be accommodating..."

"Snap!"

Before the silver could be handed over, it was whipped away.

"Two pieces of silver? Are you trying to send off a beggar?" Zhao Gang's eyes turned cold, and his whip pointed toward the city gate. "The rules have changed. The capital hasn't been peaceful lately; everyone entering the city must have their identity verified. For a shady Daoist like you, either get lost, or pay an 'entry fee' of one hundred Low-Grade Spirit Stones."

One hundred Low-Grade Spirit Stones?

Master Ling Xu's face turned deathly pale instantly. Even if his hundred-plus pounds of bones were dismantled and sold, they wouldn't be worth that much.

"My Lord, this old one truly..."

"You don't have it?" Zhao Gang sneered, his arm muscles bulging. The salt-soaked leather whip raised its head like a venomous snake. "Then leave behind an arm for me to have with my wine!"

The whip shadows multiplied, striking straight for Master Ling Xu's left shoulder.

If that whip landed, never mind his arm, half his body would be crippled.

Ye Feng stood half a step behind Master Ling Xu, his lowered hat brim hiding the cold glint in his eyes.

Although this old Daoist was useless, he was at least his guide; if he were crippled here, it would be a hassle to find the way.

Since you want this arm, then you can pay with your horse's leg.

Ye Feng flicked his right index finger, which was hidden in his sleeve.

This was not a sword technique, but simply the sharp Metal Qi he had devoured, compressed into a needle and flicked out.

The sound was extremely faint, completely drowned out by the noisy crying and shouting around them.

That invisible blast of Qi streaked along the ground and precisely sliced into the joint of the warhorse's front hoof.

There was no warning.

"Whinny—!"

The tall, date-red warhorse, which had been exerting force, suddenly let out a shrill, mournful cry, and its two front legs, as if they were sugarcane cleanly cut through, instantly folded and knelt to the ground.

Under the immense inertia, the horse's body lurched forward.

Zhao Gang, still mid-whip, had no time to react. He flew off the horse's back like a sack full of swill, face-down, and slammed solidly into a pit filled with horse manure and mud.

Muddy water splashed everywhere.

The crowd fell deathly silent for a moment, followed by a chorus of stifled exclamations.

Ye Feng retreated half a step calmly, pretending to be scared witless, and crouched down with his hands over his head, his movements as practiced as a long-suffering refugee.

"Ahhh! You bastards! Who! Who is trying to sabotage me!"

In the mud pit, Zhao Gang scrambled up in a wretched state.

His helmet was crooked, his face covered in mud, and nosebleed mixed with black water dripped down; his ferocious appearance was just like a malevolent ghost that had just crawled out of a cesspit.

He yanked out the thick-backed war saber at his waist and scanned his surroundings, radiating Killing Intent.

His gaze swept over the kneeling Master Ling Xu and finally locked onto the "sickly weakling" crouching nearby, shivering.

At the moment the horse knelt just now, he felt a flicker of aura from this kid.

"You little bastard, are you the one who played this trick?"

Zhao Gang didn't need evidence; here, his blade was the evidence.

The blade cut through the air, carrying the spiritual power of the Late Stage Qi Gathering Realm, straight toward the top of Ye Feng's head.

This strike was heavy and powerful, clearly intending to split a person in two.

A flash of impatience crossed Ye Feng's eyes.

Killing him was easy, but this place was crowded and full of prying eyes; once his identity as a Sword Cultivator was exposed, the Qingyun Sect's kill order would immediately be plastered all over the city walls.

He had to find another way.

He stood up abruptly, not retreating but advancing. The violent fire poison he had scraped from the "Earth Vein Fire Essence" instantly surged beneath his skin.

"Don't... don't come over! I'm going to explode!"

Ye Feng roared hoarsely, an unnatural flush instantly rising on his face, and the air around him became distorted and scorching at that moment.

He looked exactly like a low-level alchemist whose furnace had exploded, suffering from Qi Deviation.

Zhao Gang was stunned by this sudden heatwave, and his blade strike slowed by half a beat.

Now was the time.

The mud exploded under Ye Feng's feet. He appeared to stumble sideways in a panic, but his shoulder, like a battering ram, slammed viciously into the inner side of Zhao Gang's saber-wielding wrist.

This impact used not a shred of spiritual power; it was purely physical strength.

The body that had devoured countless scraps of iron and broken swords was as hard as refined steel.

Crack.

The crisp sound of bone breaking was even more pleasant than the sound of the horse's hoof snapping earlier.

"Ah—!"

Zhao Gang let out a miserable scream as his wrist bent at an eerie ninety-degree angle, and the thick-backed war saber clattered to the ground.

"Fire... my fire is out of control!"

Ye Feng screamed in terror while using the recoil of the impact to grab the stunned Master Ling Xu and slip into the chaotic crowd in a flash.

"Stop him! Stop him for me!"

Zhao Gang clutched his broken hand, cold sweat streaming down from the pain, but he could only watch helplessly as the thin, cloaked figure disappeared into the city gate passage.

Above the hundred-foot-high city gate tower.

In a patch of shadow, someone let out a soft sound of surprise.

"The aura is incredibly chaotic, as if he just swallowed volatile gunpowder, but the physical strength of that impact was comparable to a Yao Beast."

A shadow completely wrapped in black cloth was playing with a pitch-black command token in his hand.

He was a secret agent planted by the First Prince, Xia Yunting, specifically tasked with monitoring the movements in the capital.

"Interesting."

The shadow did not make a move.

In his view, these wild-path Cultivators who suffered from cultivation mishaps died by the dozens every day in the capital; it wasn't worth making a big fuss over.

But he flicked his finger, and a wisp of colorless and odorless tracking powder, carried by the draft, silently landed on the back of Ye Feng, who had just run into the city gate.

The mark was set; whether he was human or ghost, it would be known tonight.

North of the city, the slums.

The air here was filled with the smell of moldy straw and the stench of sewers.

Master Ling Xu clutched his swollen shoulder, led Ye Feng into a dead-end alley, and pushed open a rickety, rotten wooden door.

"This... this is where this old Daoist stays. It used to be a medicine shop, but after the shopkeeper died, it was abandoned."

The room was covered in dust, with a row of dilapidated medicine cabinets against the wall, and various moldy, dried medicinal herbs scattered on the floor.

Ye Feng released Master Ling Xu and closed the door behind him.

That impact earlier was not only to escape but also to cover up the agitation that was about to spiral out of control inside him.

In Li San's Storage Pouch, besides that junk, there was a small, finger-sized crimson crystal.

Earth Vein Fire Essence.

This thing was highly toxic to ordinary Cultivators; it had to be refined into a pill with auxiliary medicines before it could be consumed, otherwise, one's internal organs would be burned to ashes.

But Ye Feng couldn't wait.

He needed power, even if it was toxic power.

"Cough, cough... Young friend, that Zhao Gang is vindictive, we..." Master Ling Xu was just about to offer some advice, but when he turned around, he saw a scene that made his Soul fly away and spirit scatter.

He saw Ye Feng pull the blood-red Earth Vein Fire Essence from his robes and, without even looking at it, throw his head back and swallow it.

"That's Fire Essence! Are you tired of living?!"

Master Ling Xu shrieked.

Gulp.

His Adam's apple bobbed.

The next instant, beneath Ye Feng's originally pale skin, countless fiery red threads spread wildly, like the cracks on a piece of porcelain about to shatter.

A terrifying high temperature surged out from his pores, instantly igniting his cloak and turning it to ashes.

"Ah..."

A low growl emitted from Ye Feng's throat, his eyes turning blood-red.

Inside his body, the Chaos Devouring Sword Body acted like a precision millstone, frantically crushing this violent fire-elemental energy.

No Alchemy furnace?

Then he would refine it in his own stomach!

True fire tempering the cauldron.

The body as a furnace, fire as fuel.

But it still wasn't enough.

This fire was too intense; if there wasn't enough "fuel" to neutralize and fill it, this power would burn through his Physical Body first.

Ye Feng raised his head abruptly, his eyes, now burning with flames, locked tightly onto the mountain of discarded medicinal herbs piled in the corner of the medicine cabinet.

In that pile of moldy, withered grass, there seemed to be a few lingering roots of considerable age hidden.

A hunger from the depths of his Soul instantly overwhelmed his reason.