Chapter Ten: Heaven’s Gift, If Not Taken

Screams of agony echoed one after another.

“Run! Run, quickly!”

“That’s not a man—it’s a demon!”

Amidst the countless cries, a man’s hysterical voice broke through: “If I am to die, you will all accompany me to the grave. No one escapes!”

Chen Fan hid behind a large tree, watching from afar as one shadow after another collapsed to the ground.

Torches lay scattered about.

Another wave of anguished wails rose.

Almost as that figure was about to finish off the last of his attackers, blood erupted from his body like a spring, spraying outward without end!

“I refuse to accept this!!”

A wretched, prolonged howl shattered the night’s silence, hoarse and piercing: “I, Yuan Kuanglin, a master of the sixth level of martial arts, have obtained the Star Gate’s lost treasure. I was destined to reach the pinnacle of the tenth level, to become a peerless expert! How could I die here?!”

His voice grew weaker and weaker.

A muffled thud sounded.

Then, all movement fell silent.

Chen Fan felt a jolt of surprise in his heart.

Even at his dying breath, this man could utter such a lengthy final declaration!

There was no need to guess—he was a martial arts master.

In the quiet of the night, all Chen Fan could hear was the rapid, ragged breathing.

Amid the chaotic firelight, Chen Fan stared wide-eyed at the carnage before him.

Corpses littered the ground, blood pooled and splattered, severed limbs strewn everywhere.

At least ten had been struck from behind, collapsing face-down as they tried to flee, only to be casually slain!

In his final moments, this man managed such a ferocious counterattack. It was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

At that moment, only two men still stood in the flickering firelight.

One of them was Pi Liu, clutching his chest, his face deathly pale.

“Brother Biao, are you alright?” he called to his companion.

“Not dead yet…” The reply came from a burly man, his arm twisted grotesquely, lips tinged purple, his body spattered with blood. He knelt, trembling uncontrollably.

This “Brother Biao” was clearly gravely wounded, barely able to stand.

Pi Liu himself was injured, but not as severely—he could still stand, though he limped as he moved.

He hurried to help Brother Biao to his feet.

Both men looked with fear at the burly corpse lying in the distance.

Pi Liu couldn’t help but click his tongue. “So this was the boss’s target—who would’ve thought it was a sixth-level martial arts master…”

Brother Biao coughed up blood. “Who’d have thought a half-crippled fighter could be so deadly? I’m at the second level myself, and yet against a dying man, so many of our brothers fell, and I nearly lost my own life…”

This Yuan Kuanglin was simply too terrifying. Even gravely wounded, he killed as easily as slaughtering chickens; every strike took a life.

If not for the aftereffects of Yuan’s secret technique, which left him with barely a fraction of his strength, as someone only newly at the second level, he’d have been killed instantly.

The gap was simply too vast!

If not for the sacrifice of so many brothers, they’d never have dragged him down to exhaustion and death.

“I have no strength left at all. If he’d lasted a few seconds longer, both of us would be dead…”

Brother Biao’s voice was riddled with lingering fear.

Pi Liu wiped cold sweat from his brow and forced a laugh. “After surviving such disaster, good fortune surely awaits! With the boss’s enemy gone, Brother Biao, you’ll surely rise through the ranks!”

A flash of murderous intent flickered in Brother Biao’s eyes, but was soon replaced with helplessness.

A sixth-level master was no ordinary man. His dying words had stirred thoughts in Brother Biao’s mind—he longed to kill Pi Liu and search the corpse himself.

But wounded as he was, he could barely move, let alone kill and seize treasure.

He could only watch helplessly as a golden opportunity slipped away before his eyes.

Neither of them noticed that not far off, in the darkness, Chen Fan silently observed the scene.

Taking in the carnage and their conversation, Chen Fan’s heart began to race.

His gaze shifted once more to Pi Liu’s ashen face and the battered Brother Biao.

Brother Biao was clearly a leader within the Black Tiger Gang, and from his words, a martial artist at the second level. Yet now, he could barely stand.

Chen Fan was confident—if he struck now, he could very likely finish them both!

He had waited days, weighing risks and rewards, and glanced once more at the fallen Yuan Kuanglin.

A ruthless gleam lit his eyes.

Heaven offers opportunity, and to refuse is to court disaster. The chance for fortune and revenge was right before him. Even with the risk, he had no reason to hold back!

Steeling his mind, Chen Fan crept forward. He steadied his breathing and called out loudly, “Sixth Brother! I heard fighting—what happened?!”

As he spoke, he pulled off his mask, striding forward with feigned composure.

Pi Liu started at the voice from the darkness, unable to place it, assuming it was just another gang member.

He set Brother Biao down, then limped forward, clutching his chest, excitement flashing across his pallid face. “Go, inform the boss—Yuan Kuanglin is dead—”

He broke off, blinking in surprise as Chen Fan stepped into the firelight.

“You—”

Chen Fan was already upon him. With both hands, he hurled a prepared mixture of lime powder and chili water.

“Ah!!”

Pi Liu screamed, his eyes snapping shut uncontrollably as tears streamed down his face.

His hands flew up to shield himself.

In his mind, Chen Fan recalled the Tiger Fist technique he had practiced countless times.

He struck.

Thud!

With the basics of three martial arts under his belt, Chen Fan’s body was far stronger than ordinary men. This sudden, unexpected punch, aimed straight for Pi Liu’s temple, landed with brutal force.

In real combat, Chen Fan hesitated not at all.

If anything, the urgency of the situation focused his attention, and he unleashed strength beyond his usual training.

Pi Liu, though an entry-level martial artist, was still bound by mortal limits. Blinded, he instinctively staggered backward.

Chen Fan advanced a step, his fist cutting through the air, smashing precisely into Pi Liu’s temple.

Thud.

In an instant, Pi Liu’s head caved in at the temple, blood streaming from every orifice as he collapsed.

The scream was cut short.

At the same moment, a row of characters flashed before Chen Fan’s eyes, but he had no time to read them.

He rushed toward Brother Biao, who was still behind Pi Liu.

Though Brother Biao was at the second level, he was gravely wounded.

He watched in horror as a youth emerged from the shadows and, with a single blow, killed Pi Liu.

Even in his prime, Brother Biao doubted he could have slain Pi Liu with one punch.

As Chen Fan charged him, terror and helplessness flooded Brother Biao’s heart. Wounded as he was, he could not resist.

“What are you doing?!”

He struggled to his feet.

But Chen Fan was already upon him.

“Little brother, wait—do you know who I—”

Before he could finish, Chen Fan’s fist crashed into his face.

He collapsed with a thud.

After mastering several martial arts techniques, Chen Fan’s body was even sturdier, his fists empowered by inner breath—each punch now far more powerful than any brick he’d ever wielded, perhaps even deadlier than a professional boxer in his past life.

He dared not pause, and immediately followed with another Tiger Fist, slamming into Brother Biao’s face.

Blow after blow, Chen Fan kept striking until Brother Biao’s face was a bloody ruin, completely lifeless.

This so-called second-level martial artist had no power to resist.

He was even easier to dispatch than Pi Liu!