CHAPTER 22: FISHING VILLAGE 1

So this is an abyssal demon...

Wang Chen’s plain robe stirred in the cold wind, brushing against his legs as he stood before the village entrance. His expression was calm to the point of indifference, unshaken by fear—only an unspoken urgency glimmered behind his eyes.

Far ahead, six abyssal demons advanced through the mist, their movements oddly human yet disturbingly wrong. Their eyes burned with insatiable hunger, locking onto Wang Chen and Uncle Fang like predators sizing up trapped prey.

At first glance, they looked no different from ordinary villagers. Then one saw the truth—their bodies were grotesque amalgamations, as though two humans had been sewn together by threads spun from nightmare. One half of their faces was fresh and full of life, while the other was aged, shriveled, and dry like tanned hide.

The sight made Wang Chen’s gut twist. He had to look away, bile rising as cold disgust rippled through him.

"Stay back, boy. Protect yourself. I’ll take care of these demons."

Uncle Fang’s voice was low but firm. The old man’s withered frame tensed as his muscles coiled with latent strength. His weathered eyes gleamed with fighting spirit, no trace of hesitation in them.

Wang Chen did not reply. He simply stood still, gaze fixed on the approaching demons, as if words were a distraction he could not afford.

Uncle Fang didn’t press further. He exhaled deeply, and from his body surged an aura sharp enough to chill the blood. Killing intent—dense, suffocating, ancient.

Then, with a single step, he vanished from his spot.

The rusted blade in his hand raised high, Uncle Fang bellowed, "Die!"

In an instant, he crossed several dozen meters, his momentum unstoppable as he slammed into the forefront of the abyssal demons.

Wang Chen’s eyes narrowed. He watched not for victory, but for knowledge. This fight would reveal details no book ever could. And for now, knowledge was the only weapon he had.

A booming voice cut through the clash, resolute and instructive—Uncle Fang’s, carrying even as he fought.

"Compared to humans, abyssal demons are far stronger at the same realm! It often takes several cultivators to bring one down!"

He fought viciously even as he spoke, explaining mid-strike, passing down life-saving truth as though it were a sacred duty.

"So watch closely. Their weak point is—"

His words ended as his sword arced up, slicing cleanly through the demon before him—an abomination fused from an old woman’s torso and a bare-chested man. Steel met flesh with resistance, yet the blade continued upward in one relentless line, exiting through the crown of its head.

A revolting squelch, then crimson rained down as two halves of the demon hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Wang Chen’s eyes flashed with comprehension as his mind raced.

So the key is the seam—the connection. Sever the thread that binds the two halves, and the creature dies.

That was the truth he needed.

The moment the first abyssal demon fell, the remaining four froze—then erupted into furious roars that rattled through the night.

"How dare you, human, fight back! It is your privilege to die beneath our hands!"

Their twisted forms lunged forward, veins pulsing like writhing worms beneath mismatched skin.

Uncle Fang snorted coldly, swiping his blade through the air to fling off the blood that clung to it. His chest rose and fell heavily, each breath labored. Though his strike had seemed effortless, only he knew how close that last battle had come to killing him. One slip of the wrist, one heartbeat too slow, and he would have been the one lying dead.

A shadow crossed his face—regret etched deep into his furrowed brow. I shouldn’t have returned before reaching the Foundation Establishment realm... If I’d only been stronger, maybe the village could have been saved.

The bitter realization settled like lead in his chest. There was no medicine for regret.

"Uncle Fang, watch out!"

Wang Chen’s shout tore through the air, sharp with alarm. But the warning came too late.

Puchi!

A wet sound echoed as a clawed hand burst through Uncle Fang’s chest from behind.

"Hehehe... Lost in thought in the middle of battle?" hissed a voice thick with malice. "Fools like you deserve to die a dog’s death."

The creature—a monstrosity with the face of a horse and a bull crudely fused together—grinned as it wrenched its hand free.

Uncle Fang staggered, eyes wide, confusion carving itself across his features. Crimson poured from his lips, staining the ground in dark streaks. He looked toward Wang Chen, who was sprinting forward, desperation on his face.

"Run..." he whispered, the single word trembling on his dying breath before his body fell limp.

"Bastard!" Wang Chen’s roar fractured the tense silence, raw fury erupting from within him. His eyes flared red as grief and rage collided in his chest.

Even though he’d known Uncle Fang for mere moments, the borrowed memories coursing through his mind made the pain unbearable. To him, Uncle Fang was like family—someone gentle and steadfast, a man who had taken in orphans and given them warmth in a cruel world.

And now, that man was gone—slain by mindless, soulless demons who didn’t even possess a single true body.

Rage ignited fully, blazing hotter than he could contain. Alongside it came guilt—a gnawing ache that cut just as deep. If I’d acted sooner, if I’d fought beside him... this wouldn’t have happened.

The sword in his hand quivered in response, resonating with his turmoil. Then, with a sharp, almost living cry, it hummed low and fierce.

Wang Chen moved.

His sword came down in a single, fluid motion—deceptively simple, yet impossibly fast. There was no elegant form, no dazzling sword light. Just a pure, instinctive cut.

To the abyssal demon, time froze. The world dissolved around him, leaving only that single arc of steel drawing closer, unstoppable.

An instant later, everything turned cold. The demon’s consciousness flickered, recalling the moment it had first crawled from the abyss into the mortal realm. Then—nothing.

It was over.

From strike to death, only a heartbeat had passed.

By the time the other three demons realized what had happened, it was far too late. Wang Chen was already upon them, his sword painting the air with swift, merciless arcs.

Puchi! Puchi! Puchi!

Three heads rolled across the blood-soaked dirt.

[Ding! Low-leveled abyssal demons killed ×5]

[You have leveled up]