Despite slaughtering three men, An Jing's gold-trimmed white robe was untouched by even a speck of blood, and the edge of his black-iron blade was completely spotless. An armed An Jing could absolutely slaughter them all. Neither the onlookers nor the remaining gray-cloaked martialists had any doubt about that. But what if he fought barehanded?

Recognizing An Jing's intention to take them alive only deepened the gray-cloaked martialists' humiliation. With a collective roar, they thrust their swords forward, determined to draw his blood even if it meant certain death. But the reality was stark; even if they died, they couldn't touch him.

As blades descended upon him from all directions, An Jing abruptly collapsed forward. This wasn't a deliberate bend or a defensive dive. Instead, his body dropped in a loose, entirely relaxed freefall. In a flash, An Jing's upper body disappeared from sight, so their blades sliced into empty space. His slack muscles and skin snapped back into tension. With the seals reinforcing his physique, An Jing's body now mirrored a compressed spring or a taut bow.

Then, An Jing's devastating fist slammed into the left martialist's chin. His jaw caved in completely as the bone shattered, his tongue was pulverized, and his teeth sprayed into the air like popping corn. He was dead before he could even register the blow.

But right now, the cultists' weapons were closing in fast. Ignoring their companion's proximity to An Jing, they struck across every angle, high, mid, and low, ensuring he had no room left to dodge.

An Jing didn't even bat an eye. Spreading his arms wide, he pulled the upright corpse of the gray-cloaked martialist into a tight embrace and spun instantly, using the dead man as a shield to absorb the three incoming strikes.

A sudden weightlessness hit the remaining three martialists below their knees. An Jing had already plunged back to the ground and retrieved his discarded blade to execute a low roll while slicing clean through their legs. When he rose, the martialists' uncontrollable cries of agony filled the air. The crimson blood splattered across his white robe only served to accentuate his flawless, jade-like complexion and jet-black hair.

"Let's go, Shopkeeper Zhang. Take these thugs with us."

Ten breaths was all it took for An Jing to neutralize his opponents. He gestured for the dazed, trembling pawn shop staff to take them away. "We must notify the officials right away, or..." Turning around, he cast a cold glance at the wailing cultists, the deep abyss of his dark pupils flashing a crimson glow. "They won't make it."

"Y-y-yes... Young Master Xuan..." A cold shiver ran up Shopkeeper Zhang's spine. Without a word, he blocked out the fresh blood and the putrid stench from the terror-stricken cultists who had soiled themselves, struck one of them unconscious, and hoisted the man onto his back. The two shop assistants frantically dropped their carrying pole. Unfortunately, the cultists' heavy leather armor and equipment made it impossible for these layfolk to each lift a body.

"I'm not one of them! I swear I'm not with them! They just paid me to deliver information!" Little Liu screamed himself hoarse. "Please, granddaddy, put me down! Old ancestor, spare this grandson's life! I'll help you drag these thugs to the authorities! I won't run, I really won't! Just let me do the heavy lifting for you!"

Glancing at the hysterical, rambling Little Liu, An Jing slashed twice. The snapping cords left bloody welts on his wrists and calves. Now free, Little Liu instantly dropped to his knees, kowtowing three times to An Jing before knocking out the last two martialists and slinging one over his shoulders. With the two assistants managing one captive on a carrying pole, and the shopkeeper and the mole carrying one each, the eight of them quietly made their way through the streets toward Keensight's government office.

"What? The True Fiend Cult?!" Upon learning that a group of critically wounded martialists from the True Fiend Cult had been delivered, City Manager Zheng Mo felt no shock, only the grim confirmation of the inevitable and deep fear. Though he had first suspected the Heavenly Divine Cult, they were quickly cleared of any involvement. He had reached out through his private channels to probe their local altars, only to receive a direct denial: "It wasn't us."

While it might make him appear disloyal, no official stationed on the northwestern frontier could avoid entanglements with the Heavenly Divine Cult. They were enemies on the surface, yet the cult was a connection worth preserving. Despite trading bitter insults in public, they still maintained a line of communication for critical moments.

Simply put, the Heavenly Divine Cult wanted to overthrow the regime. Their blood tax was a long-term, albeit exhaustive, form of exploitation. Massacring the entire population for a ritual sacrifice was never their true objective. In a war against Grand Chen over contestable territories, their approach would certainly be far more conciliatory. If the Heavenly Divine Cult were the ones behind this, Zheng Mo believed the result would be the death of a handful of high-level officials or maybe just his own, but the lower ranks would survive.

However, the True Fiend Cult was different. The Heavenly Divine Cult had always proclaimed itself a divine order, whereas the True Fiend Cult proudly embraced their role as the heavenly fiends' lackeys. These two factions were incapable of communication or compromise. If the True Fiend Cult were to seize a village or city, there was only one thing they would do: offer every single soul as a blood sacrifice to the heavenly fiends in exchange for rewards and abilities.

Wasting no time, Zheng Mo hurried back to the government office immediately. "Huh? Shopkeeper Zhang? This..." His eyes swept over the deeply shaken Fullyield staff, Little Liu frozen on his knees, and the three unconscious cultists who were currently receiving medical care to be kept alive.

It was remarkably easy to pick them out as cultists by their cloaks alone. Instead of ordinary beast skins, they used fey-beast hides that effectively shielded them from terrestrial-vein detection. While the Heavenly Divine Cult also crafted such items, what set them apart was the style.

Turning around, Zheng Mo looked at Shopkeeper Zhang in surprise. "How did you do it?" Zheng Mo harbored no suspicion toward the shopkeeper who was undeniably a law-abiding citizen; he simply held no illusions about their strength. The entire staff of Fullyield Pawn Shop would struggle to defeat a River Aura mercenary, let alone stand a chance against these cultists.

"Where did that elite go?" He was no fool; he realized the master who defeated these martialists explicitly wished to avoid him. "Did that person leave a message for me?"

"Sir..." Still shaking, Shopkeeper Zhang managed a wry smile as he bowed to Zheng Mo. "Indeed, we cannot claim credit for subduing these cultists. It was a young Dustdawner prodigy who took them down, and he did leave a message for you. He said to guard the terrestrial-vein nodes. The True Fiend Cult has already seized three, and they could already be targeting the fourth or fifth.

"As for his absence, it's certainly not because he wishes to avoid you, sir. Rather, he has obtained vital intelligence from these cultists during our journey here." Though he was still gripped by lingering fear, Shopkeeper Zhang gazed toward the end of the street with profound admiration and respect. "Young Master Xuan learned about the warehouse these cultists are using to traffic their recent captives. Right now, he's racing over there to continue his crusade for justice!"