Chapter Eighty-Eight: The First Step of the Martial Long March

The two of them left the tavern and had walked less than a hundred paces when they spotted the two brothers who practiced the Hong Family Fist. Toad Face was about to greet them, but the Phthisic Ghost stopped him, shaking his head. "They're already dead."

Startled, Toad Face circled in front and saw it was true—their necks were slick with dripping blood, faces still twisted in anger and confusion.

"Hong Family Fist originates from the Arhat Monastery—strong and powerful, with mostly frontal techniques, relying on force to overpower. But these two never mastered it; they had courage but no adaptability. That’s why this blade struck from the oblique right, the angle and line far too precise."

The Phthisic Ghost pointed to the evenly splattered blood on the ground. "The blade was so quick, the blood spurted slower than the cut. The killer didn’t get a drop on himself."

"A single fatal stroke," the Phthisic Ghost murmured, a chill creeping up his neck.

"Our enemy is mixed among them."

They continued along the forested hollow path and soon came upon another unexpected corpse: President Hu, who had only just demonstrated his might, now lay with a blade wound cleaving through his back and out his chest, eyes staring wide in death.

"Shoot the horse before the rider, capture the king before the thief—clever!"

"It's impossible—another single fatal strike?" Toad Face exclaimed in disbelief. The teachers and military instructors this man hired—were they all useless?

"It wasn’t one stroke, it was three."

The Phthisic Ghost pushed aside weeds on the ground and found three half-inch-deep footprints, toes pointed straight at President Hu. He closed his eyes, as if he could replay the scene in his mind.

The killer mingled with the crowd, his first stroke felling the Hong brothers, then slipped into the woods as chaos erupted and everyone feared for their lives. President Hu, having been chosen as the local leader, had to calm the crowd.

That was exactly the moment the killer had waited for!

It was a perfect opportunity—President Hu's authority not yet established, but being proactive, he couldn’t just hide among the guards. The local boxers hadn’t yet united; their numbers were many, but they were scattered and leaderless.

No one expected the killer’s return to be so swift, precise, and ruthless!

"The killer’s blade is sharp, and he wields a fine weapon," Toad Face finally discerned the subtleties.

The Phthisic Ghost didn’t reply, a trace of disdain in his expression. This wasn’t merely about blade skills—it was physique, boxing, footwork, timing, and only then the blade. The blade was just the finishing touch.

"Then everything descended into chaos."

Looking around, there were a dozen paths, nearly half bearing footprints.

"Kill or flee."

With no leader, no one would submit to another, so there were two choices: hunt down the killer to eliminate future threats, or avoid him altogether.

"Which way do you think the killer went?"

Toad Face hesitated, then pointed north. "If I were him, I’d avoid the main group of fighters and go after the easy prey first."

"This time you guessed right." The Phthisic Ghost nodded, and the two headed down the narrow path marked by a single set of footprints.

"Is the killer local?" Toad Face wondered aloud. Among these local fighters, he couldn’t recall anyone with such skill at the blade.

The Phthisic Ghost coughed twice, offering no answer.

The trees in this region grew tall and large, but the branches and leaves were sparse—mostly banana leaves. With winter approaching, the ground was hardening, and footprints soon faded.

Toad Face seemed hesitant. He didn’t understand what this killer had to do with the Phthisic Ghost’s quest for revenge—why was he so invested? And was there any connection to the Blood Banner Society?

After all, a visible bounty didn’t mean there wasn’t a secret one. The Burned Body Martial Hall was poor, but who really knew the truth?

Suddenly, footsteps approached. Both men stopped. Toad Face’s belly visibly puffed up; he squatted, and the croak of a frog sounded from his throat—a dantian strike!

Among all the animal mimicry boxing arts, Frog Fist was the best at channeling dantian energy.

"Please don’t attack, brothers—I’m one of you!" The man raised his hands in harmless surrender.

They looked him over: baby-faced, dimples when he smiled, dressed in official garb, two heavy iron chains at his waist, and a scabbard with no blade.

"I’m an officer from the capital—here’s my badge," he said, pulling out a foot-long official token inscribed with three characters: Xu Xiaoxiao.

"A lawman from the capital—what are you doing here?" Toad Face asked with disdain.

"I heard the region is crawling with bandits and pirates, so I came to try my luck—see if I could catch the infamous One-Armed Thief. Don’t worry, though I had to pawn my blade for travel money, if you two have any leads, we can split the bounty from the magistrate fifty-fifty—how’s that?" Xu Xiaoxiao’s eyes sparkled with the shine of copper coins.

The two exchanged glances. What a peculiar officer.

"I haven’t seen any One-Armed Thief, nor do I have any leads. If I were you, I’d leave as soon as possible—this place isn’t safe right now," Toad Face said with a softer tone, perhaps because the man seemed so harmless.

"You’re absolutely right, brother. I just found a naked corpse over there—scared me half to death. Law enforcement is much safer in the capital. Gentlemen, the mountains remain, the rivers flow—until we meet again. If you ever have news, report it to the authorities under my name—Xu Xiaoxiao. Food, drink, and even brothels on the house—I guarantee your satisfaction!"

Toad Face stared after him for a while, then said, "That little officer is quite something."

The Phthisic Ghost coughed, took a swig of wine, and muttered without turning, "Are there really officers in the capital?"

It took Toad Face a moment to catch on. He slapped his forehead. "Wait, yeah—are there really lawmen in the capital? And even if there are, what are they doing in this forsaken place?"

Lawmen, properly called constables or runners, were official functionaries in every district. Of course the capital had its own, but those would be under the capital’s jurisdiction. Which office in the capital would send someone all the way out here?

But Toad Face was never the brightest, so he didn’t dwell on it and simply followed the man ahead.

The Phthisic Ghost walked in the direction the little officer had indicated, and soon they saw the corpse he’d mentioned. The body showed no wounds on the surface; with a glance, the Phthisic Ghost recognized death from internal martial force—a broken heart meridian.

"Isn’t this the Mo Fist master? He was just in the inn—" Toad Face was stunned. The corpse was cold and stiff, face tinged with blue, dead for quite some time, and with no knife wounds. What had happened?

The Phthisic Ghost bent down and found a lump of something like putty beneath the man’s chin. Muttering to himself, he said, "So, it was a disguise technique."

After that, Toad Face trailed the Phthisic Ghost in aimless wandering, their route seemingly without pattern. But along the way, more and more corpses turned up, most killed with a single fatal cut. The only exception was Bai Yisheng of the Bai Family Fist.

He had taken two blows and died a wretched death—the second cut sliced from shoulder blade to belly, the blade as explosive as gunpowder, shattering the ribs and scattering viscera in a circle. His face was twisted in terror, as if he’d met a demon.

"The killer’s blade work has changed—from lethal stealth to savage brutality. Looks like he knows two styles," Toad Face concluded. Though blade force was never as distinctive as boxing force, every great swordsman had his own way, and the results varied.

But the Phthisic Ghost sighed softly. "It seems it’s not the killer after all, but that the Burned Body Martial Hall has begun its counterattack."

"Why?"

"That school has a martial art—no, a theory of boxing—that can imitate the force of every style in the world. And this art has the hallmark of comprehensive mastery: with every gesture, one can mimic these special forces. If you swap fists for blades, the principle holds."

"A martial artist like that—wouldn’t learning one style mean learning a dozen others: blade, spear, sword?" Toad Face was shocked.

"It’s not as simple as you think. Besides, how do you know it came from the Guild?"

"True, Master Lin Xian isn’t from Guangdong."

"And he didn’t invent it either."

"Impossible! I refuse to believe anyone but that genius Lin Xian could create such a thing without joining the Guild!"

"The Guild isn’t the end. This world is far larger than you imagine," the Phthisic Ghost whispered, eyes narrowing as he glanced ahead. Not far off, two figures faced each other.

One was the dead "Mo Fist master," and standing opposite was the middle-aged woman from the tavern, the one cradling a child.

The woman seemed oblivious, still cooing at the baby in her arms.

On the master’s bamboo hat, a tiny red scorpion was burrowing painstakingly into the scalp.