Whoosh—the gravel vanished from his palm in an instant. In the distance, seven or eight phantoms flickered and disappeared, leaving only one real body. The Phantom Shade Master froze, rooted to the spot, his face twisted in terror as if he'd seen a demon. He couldn't move a muscle or take a single step. Finally, with a thud, the Phantom Shade Master collapsed to his knees.
Countless people rushed past him in terror, even his former subordinates ignored him—everyone was just trying to escape. Creak, creak, the Rainblade King came pulling an old cart, its shadow completely enveloping the Phantom Shade Master...
Meanwhile, in the main tent behind the camp, just as the Phantom Shade Master left, Zach Four started to feel something was off.
"No eating... no drinking... no moving?" Zach Four felt a nerve throbbing in his head, as if something important was trying to get his attention. As an innate master, his intuition far surpassed ordinary folks—if his gut kept warning him, then something serious must be up.
Wait a second, doesn’t that sound familiar? Like he’d heard about something like this before.
A thought struck him, and he suddenly asked, "Where did we first run into that guy?"
The man in the black robe answered immediately, "A dead desert somewhere—if I’m not mistaken, it should be the Nineteen Death Desert."
Nineteen Death Desert?
No eating, no drinking, no moving?
It was like a bolt of lightning split the fog in his mind—these traits suddenly lined up into a complete picture. Zach Four remembered now: three or four years ago, when he’d just secured his spot under Boss Smokepot and was gunning for the deputy leader’s seat, he overheard the old-timers in the corps swapping wild stories. The veterans always said the South Wasteland was full of weirdness—you never knew when you’d run into something strange. Most of their tales were just tall ones, and Zach Four didn’t buy any of it. But one story stuck with him.
Because that one was the real deal—a genuine martial arts legend, no exaggeration.
Just before he joined the corps, in the span of a few days, two deputy leaders died without a trace—all because they dragged a man out of the South Wasteland.
That man was a total mystery. Folks thought he was just some dumb guy with a secret, but he ended up causing a massive uproar. They said once he hit the martial world, it was like a dragon diving into the ocean—waves everywhere. The death of Ouyezi was tied to him, and in the South Wasteland Holy Mountain Incident, he played a key role that changed the whole landscape.
Rumor had it, this guy single-handedly wiped out the Four Kings of Gold, Silver, Bronze, and Iron from Peng Nation, plus the once-famous Lady Simone. Even scarier, the Blood-Dripping King—Peng Nation’s top-tier guardian—was said to have died at his hands too.
That man came from the Nineteen Death Desert. Didn’t eat, didn’t drink, didn’t move—just like the guy today.
Could it be... there’s some kind of connection between the two?
Zach Four’s heart skipped a beat, but he quickly reassured himself. No way, that’s too much of a coincidence. Sure, the Smoke Pot Mercenary Corps has done plenty of dirty deeds, but our luck can’t be that bad, right? Zach Four didn’t buy all that karma or cosmic retribution stuff anyway!
Just as he was thinking that, a sudden uproar exploded outside. Mixed in with the chaos were terrified screams, sending a chill down Zach Four’s spine—bad news was boiling up. Then came a rush of clothes whipping through the air, clearly something big was going down.
"What’s all the fuss?" Zach Four burst out of the tent, voice booming from his core, "Hold your ground and don’t panic! Anyone who deserts the battlefield must’ve forgotten how the Smoke Pot Mercenary Corps deals with cowards!"
The Corps was notorious for its brutal methods—sometimes you couldn’t die even if you wanted to. Harsh laws made Zach Four’s job easy, and almost no one dared defy him. But this time, he’d miscalculated. Dozens of his men, mixed with black-robed allies, came surging over. Seeing Zach Four, they didn’t even slow down, didn’t spare him a glance—just ran past, armor flying, completely panicked.
Screams filled the air as the main tent was knocked down by the panicked crowd. Princesses and beauties huddled together, shivering in the cold wind. Zach Four was baffled—what had gotten into his men? Suddenly, he spotted a familiar face, grabbed him, and yanked him close. The guy tried to squirm away, but Zach Four slapped him hard, again and again, until blood dripped from his mouth.
It was Quentin Sikes.
"What the hell happened?" Zach Four snarled, gripping Quentin Sikes by the collar.
"Run, run, monster, monster!" Quentin Sikes looked completely scared out of his wits.
"Spreading nonsense again? Keep it up and I’ll kill you myself!" Zach Four raised his hand in fury, but before he could finish the threat, Quentin’s eyes rolled back, his legs shook, and a sour stench wafted up from his pants. His knees buckled and he collapsed, face twisted in terror and regret, kowtowing and begging, "Mercy, mercy! I was wrong, I really was wrong!"
Zach Four froze—Quentin wasn’t bowing to him, but toward the direction everyone was running from.
Creak, creak—the slow, swaying sound cut through the air, carrying a suffocating pressure that invaded every heart. Zach Four stiffened, turned, and looked. One glance was enough to send his legs trembling, his mind reeling as if the world had flipped upside down.
There they were—the once-celebrated Rainblade King and the proud martial arts master. Now one was crawling like a dog in front, the other hunched and pushing from behind. Both acted like the most obedient, well-trained slaves, quietly pulling the cart.
What... what the hell is going on?!
My wine isn’t even cold yet!
Zach Four’s mind went blank. But the man on the cart moved. His gaze swept the crowd—those eyes seemed to pierce everything, taking in every detail, material or spiritual. Nothing escaped him.
He spoke to Zach Four first: "Didn’t expect to run into your crew again. Last time, I only got out of the sand sea thanks to your help. Now here we are again—and you’ve even sent me a cart and livestock. I’m honestly delighted."
A spark of realization hit Zach Four.
Holy crap! Judging by what he said, this was that same powerhouse from last time! Four years ago, this guy could already kill the Blood-Dripping King—and now he can make two innate masters pull his cart in a flash. Even a Heavenly King couldn’t do that. Could it be... this guy’s reached Infinite Essence, a true world-class master?
No wonder the troops collapsed so quickly, everyone fleeing in such a panic. This wasn’t just kicking a steel plate—no, this was a whole iron mountain crashing down on us!
"Senior... senior..." Zach Four’s face turned pale, lips trembling. He wanted to beg for mercy but had no idea what to say, so he just stammered, "Please, have mercy..."
The man smiled gently: "You’re too kind. I’m hardly your senior. You protect the people, keep the peace, live in harmony, stay clean, unite your comrades, work hard, and your career is thriving." He flashed a pure, warm smile. "So young and promising—why not pull the cart yourself?"