The Apothecary formed his own opinion and said, "Let him drink Four Spirit Bloods—drink as much as he can, drink until he bursts! Every time he drinks, his physique improves a little. Even if he can't awaken a Spirit Body, his body will be stronger than any Spirit Body!"
One punch could kill a dragon.
The Village Chief chuckled, "That'll scare those bastards outside the Great Ruins to death."
The two exchanged a smile. The Apothecary walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.
The next day, the villagers brought in several Ironbone Tigers, Azure Flood Serpents, Lightning Birds, and Golden Turtles. With a new goal, the old men and women were full of energy, though it made the Apothecary furious: "If he drinks too much Four Spirit Blood at once, it'll kill him!"
Mute Smith dragged in two Lightning Birds, grinning wordlessly—he had no tongue.
"Quinn can handle it!" Granny Sue said with full confidence in Quinn Shepherd.
The Apothecary shot them a glare and said nothing, pulling out silkworm eggs to refine more blood. But trouble came anyway. This batch of Four Spirit Bloods was a bit much—after Quinn Shepherd drank it, his body swelled up like he was being inflated, making all the old men and women nervous, worried he'd burst with a pop.
The Apothecary took out a few hollow silver needles and stuck them into Quinn Shepherd's back and crown. Red, blue, and purple streams hissed from the needle tips.
After a while, the needles stopped venting. The Apothecary removed them, glaring again at the old men and women. "Step by step, nice and slow—if you try to fatten him up in one go, you'll just kill him! He's still feeling bloated, so you all have work to do. Later, the Butcher will spar saber techniques with him, Grandpa Mark will train his fists, and the Cripple will drill him on legwork. Help him digest it."
"Quinn, time for saber practice!"
The Butcher planted his hands on the ground and leapt up, landing atop a single wooden stake. He had no lower body—his upper half stood at about Quinn Shepherd's height.
The Butcher gripped two pig-slaughtering knives. Unlike ordinary blades, which were less than a foot long with rounded wooden handles and crescent-shaped edges, these were something else entirely.
The knives in the Butcher's hands looked similar but were several sizes larger—three feet two inches long, thick-backed, thin-edged, polished to a shine. Together, the two blades looked like a pair of arched gates, enormous and intimidating.
Quinn Shepherd's own pig-slaughtering knife was the same size, but he only had one. It was heavy—over twenty pounds. Normally, the boy could barely lift it, but after drinking Four Spirit Bloods, his strength had grown; now he could wield it one-handed without feeling the weight.
"Be careful, Grandpa Butcher!"
Quinn Shepherd charged at the Butcher, single-handedly wielding his blade. The Butcher laughed heartily—despite having only half a body, his spirit was as bold as ever.
Night Battle Over a City in Wind and Rain!
Quinn Shepherd's blade flashed up and down as he moved, slashing toward the Butcher. The saber's speed increased, wind howled, and the blade's arc became a continuous blur.
"Too slow, too slow! You're way too slow!"
Grandpa Butcher's gone crazy again. But his saber is so fast—he's trained his blade to the level of a divine ability. When will I ever be that fast?
The blade flashed even faster, like three silver dragons weaving around the wooden stake, darting up and down. The wind roared, and the hissing saber energy mixed with the gusts. Wherever the blade landed, deep marks appeared on the ground.
Those were saber scars.
"Good, that's the speed you need! The faster your blade, the stronger your saber energy. But you still aren't fast enough—you need to make your saber intent burn like fire, hotter and hotter!"
The Butcher seemed half-mad, whirling his blades in a dizzying display that left Quinn Shepherd reeling. He yelled, "Burn! Burn! Make your blade burn, make your energy burn, make your spirit burn! Once you burn, that's when you reach divine ability!"
Whoosh—
His blade sliced through the air, and the friction set it ablaze. The two blades danced like twin fire dragons, their momentum growing ever more terrifying.
Grandpa Mark wore a serious expression. With his single arm, he clenched his fist, bones crackling like firecrackers. Calmly, he said, "Quinn, the day you can hold lightning in your hand, your fists will be worth something. The Butcher's blade is all about speed, but my fists break the limits of sound, break the shackles of air, and explode with unrivaled force! One arm can still throw a punch—one arm is a thousand arms. Even with one hand, I can unleash thunder and lightning!"
Quinn Shepherd was stunned—the Butcher's saber technique was truly terrifying.
Above the village, darkness surged in, swallowing the fire dragons and every trace of blade light and saber energy.
That darkness seemed alive, almost angry at the Butcher for slashing at it. The oppressive blackness pressed down on the village, as if it wanted to swallow everything.
But the stone statues at the four corners of the village suddenly glowed brighter, pushing the darkness back.
"Damn heavens!"
The Butcher stood atop the wooden stake, gripping his blades and howling at the sky, half-mad: "One day I'll split this darkness open, one day I'll fight my way back! They cut me off at the waist, took my legs, but not my head! I'll kill—"
Grandpa Butcher's gone crazy again. But his saber is so fast—he's trained his blade to the level of a divine ability. When will I ever be that fast?
Quinn Shepherd looked at the raving Butcher with admiration, set down his pig-slaughtering knife, and went to find Grandpa Mark, the one-armed elder.
The Butcher's saber only counts as a divine ability if it burns with fire. My fists, on the other hand, need to thunder with lightning to reach that level!
Grandpa Mark wore a serious expression. With his single arm, he clenched his fist, bones crackling like firecrackers. Calmly, he said, "Mu'er, the day you can hold lightning in your hand, your fists will be worth something. The Butcher's blade is all about speed, but my fists break the limits of sound, break the shackles of air, and explode with unrivaled force! One arm can still throw a punch—one arm is a thousand arms. Even with one hand, I can unleash thunder and lightning!"
Boom—
A muffled thunderclap rang out—Grandpa Mark's fist exploded with a sound like thunder.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A string of thunderclaps followed. Quinn Shepherd's eyes couldn't keep up with Grandpa Mark's punches—the afterimages made it seem as if the one-armed elder had grown hundreds, even thousands of arms.
Grandpa Mark's fists moved faster and faster; in each of those countless palms, lightning crackled and danced. Every strike came with rolling thunder and flashing sparks!
[This chapter isn't finished yet ^.^, please click next page to continue reading!]
This is the Thousand-Armed Buddha from the Thunder Sound Eight Styles! If your fists are faster than sound, you can command thunder. Every punch and palm can shatter your opponent's soul and body, leaving them beyond redemption, unable to reincarnate for all eternity!
Grandpa Mark drew back his fist and said gravely, "Attack me with the Thunder Sound Eight Styles I taught you. Strike with thunder, grasp lightning, and command the storm!"
He smiled at Quinn Shepherd and said, "Quinn, the Butcher brags about his blade, Grandpa Mark about his fists, but real divine ability is in the legs. If you can't kill or beat your enemy, what do you do? You run, of course—your life is what matters most! Life isn't just poetry and far-off dreams; sometimes it's about scraping by! Survival is victory! If you run fast enough, you can sprint along walls, dash across water, even race through the sky! When you're so fast that even sound can't catch up to you, that's when you've barely mastered the divine ability of legwork. Quinn, come on, grab the iron ingots."
Divine ability!
It was a strange word to him—he was hearing it for the first time.
Quinn Shepherd launched into the Thunder Sound Eight Styles, attacking Grandpa Mark. Despite having only one arm, Grandpa Mark blocked every strike effortlessly, as if it cost him nothing.
Unlike the Butcher, who always seemed mad but never actually hurt Quinn Shepherd in their blade practice, Grandpa Mark showed no mercy. If Quinn's technique had a flaw, he'd get punched—though the blows weren't heavy, it wasn't long before Quinn's face was bruised and swollen.
Only when Quinn Shepherd couldn't go on did Grandpa Mark let him rest.
"Legs are wind, earth, and the root of power."
Grandpa Lame leaned on his cane—he had only one leg, yet he was the one who taught Quinn Shepherd leg techniques. Quinn used to think Grandpa Lame was the most normal elder in the village, always smiling warmly and giving off a reliable vibe.
Unlike the Butcher, who always seemed mad but never actually hurt Quinn Shepherd in their blade practice, Grandpa Mark showed no mercy. If Quinn's technique had a flaw, he'd get punched—though the blows weren't heavy, it wasn't long before Quinn's face was bruised and swollen.
Only when Quinn Shepherd couldn't go on did Grandpa Mark let him rest.
He smiled at Quinn Shepherd and said, "Mu'er, the Butcher brags about his blade, Grandpa Mark about his fists, but real divine ability is in the legs. If you can't kill or beat your enemy, what do you do? You run, of course—your life is what matters most! Life isn't just poetry and far-off dreams; sometimes it's about scraping by! Survival is victory! If you run fast enough, you can sprint along walls, dash across water, even race through the sky! When you're so fast that even sound can't catch up to you, that's when you've barely mastered the divine ability of legwork. Mu'er, come on, grab the iron ingots."