Chapter 115
“How did you survive after absorbing the Death Energy?”
The man asked, disbelief lacing his tone.
Gang Reyong didn’t reply. He simply stood in silence, his abyssal eyes swirling with dark energy as he stared at the man.
He looked more like a man possessed.
“Hmph, you don’t want to talk?” The man chuckled with disdain.
“D-Don’t… child, don’t do it.” Jian Ruxue weakly extended her hand, as if trying to stop Gang Reyong. But she failed, her arm dropped to the ground with a thud.
She parted her parched lips and spoke with difficulty:
“He… he is a First-Stage Martial Artist.”
“I see,” Gang Reyong said, nodding as he heard this.
His eyes were fixed on the man, yet not a trace of fear could be seen in his demeanor.
“Are you really not afraid of me?” the man asked curiously, tilting his head as he observed Gang Reyong’s calm and collected expression.
“Of course not.”
Gang Reyong began to walk forward, death energy swirling around him, cloaking his body like a suit of armor.
“Let’s see how long that confidence lasts,” the man sneered.
He took a step, it seemed like a simple step, no different from one an ordinary man might take.
But in the blink of an eye, he was right in front of Gang Reyong, his fist flying straight toward his face.
Just as the punch was about to land, Gang Reyong spoke in a low, commanding tone:
“Arise.”
The void warped and twisted.
From the darkness, undead soldiers marched forth, forming a tight phalanx that absorbed the brunt of the blow.
Even so, the fist pushed on, losing only a sliver of momentum before reaching Gang Reyong.
He regarded the oncoming strike with cold indifference.
Death energy pooled in his own hand, and he struck back.
The two fists were about to collide when, at the last instant, the man felt a chill crawl up his spine.
“Death energy…”
He yanked his arm away as if Gang Reyong’s fist were a plague and leapt backward.
Gang Reyong’s voiced in a flat tone:
“Hah. What happened to our mighty First‑Stage Martial Artist? Not so capable after all?”
He felt numb, as though his emotions had been stripped away. His body was cold as ice.
His face had turned pale, so pale he looked more like a corpse than a living man.
The man in black stood silent for a moment, staring at his fist, now laced with cracks.
“I have to admit, you caught me off guard,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. You still won’t be able to defeat me.”
“You’re right. I may not be able to beat you,” Gang Reyong replied. “But what about them?”
The undead surged forward.
Around one hundred and fifty of them, flooding the entire room.
And at the forefront stood a brawny, green-skinned figure, a Third-Stage Martial Artist.
“Jiangshi!?” The man’s voice trembled with disbelief. “How… how can you summon Jiangshi!?”
He looked at the crushed undead, who were rapidly recovering and becoming whole again.
“And this is the undying, immortal Jiangshi, the dream of our faction.”
Even though he was a First-stage Martial Artist, he couldn’t keep his calm demeanour of an expert.
Gang Reyong didn’t have much emotion; rather, he has become emotionless. It could be better to say that he is a corpse now:
“Attack.”
The undead moved rapidly, swarming the man.
The man stood frozen, even letting the undead attack him as much as they wanted to. However, the damage they could output was very minimal; even the Third-stage undead could only scratch his skin.
“Hmph.”
He scoffed and stomped on the ground, a shockwave sent outward.
The undead were flung and sent backward.
“Hehe, brat, even the heavens are helping us. Until that man comes to show us the way, you might be the first step for our faction to prosper again.”
‘The man he is mentioning, is he my main body?’ Gang Reyong shook his head.
He pointed with his finger.
The void distorted again, and the hunched old man appeared—not in an undead form.
“Who is he, old man?” Gang Reyong immediately asked the moment he appeared.
“I won’t tell you, brat,” the hunched old man retorted immediately:
“I will wipe out your consciousness then.”
“No, wait, I will tell you. He is one of the Elders of our faction, Elder Jin Hyuk.”
“I see. Do you know his weakness?”
“No, I am not worthy enough to meet him. This Elder is one of the oldest, and he remains in seclusion most of the time.”
“Then how is he here? You didn’t know about this?”
Gang Reyong asked with a frown.
“No.” Saying this, the hunched man’s expression was dark.
“Oh, the little puppy has been abandoned by the dark faction, and now your single shred of consciousness is in my hand. How about you command my army for now?”
“You…” The hunched old man felt his pride shatter, but to someone who could end him in the next moment, he could only swallow all his resentment back to himself.
Then he nodded his head.
These green-skinned were his. No one knew how to control them better than him.
“Have you two finished talking?” Jin Hyuk asked with amusement.
“Brat, you killed that ant and instantly turned it into a Jiagshi. Clearly, you’re special. I’ll enjoy taking that ability from you.”
Jin Hyuk let out a villainous laugh.
Suddenly, the surroundings shifted.
The air grew oppressively heavy.
Gang Reyong’s vision blurred; before him loomed the image of a colossal scythe, as though it could harvest every life, the bane of all living beings.
In a flat, emotionless voice, he said:
“So this is the power of a First‑Stage Martial Artist?”
The illusion shattered.
A First‑Stage Martial Artist, fully integrated with their Will, attains a terrifying power and attack power that the lower stage martial artist cannot even begin to imagine.
It was the dream of countless martial artists, but even among the top three factions controlling this entire martial world, only a handful had ever reached it.
“But it’s still not enough.”
Death energy swirled around him, coalescing into a full suit of armor that covered him from head to toe.
“Let’s see if you can even lay a finger on me.”