One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Chapter 148 A Messy Opponent

Qilin Fire

Deep inside the tunnel, the lights were as bright as day.

The stark white fluorescent lights stretched out in an endless line overhead, illuminating everyone's faces with a deathly pallor. The air was thick with the pungent smell of concrete, and—murderous intent.

Hundreds of men in black combat uniforms, like a pack of silent wolves, slowly closed in from both ends of the tunnel. Their footsteps almost overlapped, creating a dull, drum-like echo in the empty tunnel. It wasn't chaotic footsteps, but muscle memory formed after thousands of training sessions, each step perfectly timed.

Nie Lingfeng's gaze slowly swept across the crowd.

At the forefront were eight European and American mercenaries, averaging over 1.9 meters tall, their muscles bulging beneath their tactical vests. The safety on their MP5 submachine guns was off, the muzzles all pointed at his heart. Their eyes were as cold as supermarket cashiers scanning barcodes—killing was just a job for them.

Behind the mercenary, three Southeast Asian men crouched on the ground, their skin dark and their builds thin. One of them was untying a cloth bag at his waist, from which came rustling sounds, like countless tiny claws scratching at the inside of the bag. Another had begun applying some kind of black ointment to his arm; where the ointment touched his skin, veins bulged, and the blood vessels seemed to come alive beneath the skin.

A sorcerer.

Further away, an elderly man in a grey Taoist robe held a peach wood sword. The talismans affixed to the sword moved slightly without wind, emitting a soft rustling sound. Beside him stood three Tibetan monks draped in dark red robes, each holding a string of black prayer beads, their lips moving as they chanted scriptures in a low voice. The scriptures were so soft that the content was almost inaudible, but each syllable felt like a dull knife scraping against the eardrum.

There were also samurai.

Five Japanese samurai dressed in kimonos, with katana at their waists, stood at the very edge of the crowd. Unlike the others, they didn't stare at Nie Lingfeng; instead, their eyelids were slightly lowered, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, like five stone statues. But this stillness was more dangerous than any movement—it was the starting stance of Iaido, ready to unleash a fatal blow at any moment.

A motley crew, but all with the same goal—Nie Lingfeng.

The "messenger" stood at the back of the crowd, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. The lenses reflected the fluorescent lights, obscuring his eyes; only the gentle smile playing on his lips was visible. That smile was like a teacher watching a student answer a question, or a doctor examining a patient—a condescending, almost benevolent appreciation.

"Nie Lingfeng." His voice wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally clear in the silent tunnel. "I'm giving you one last chance. Join us, or... die."

He paused, as if savoring the weight of those two words, then added, "Don't rush to answer. Look around you. Any one of these people could be a master in their own right. And now, they're willing to gather here for you. You should feel honored."

Nie Lingfeng gripped the Snow Drinking Blade.

The blade reflected the overhead light, and also his own face—several dried bloodstains on his face, whether from enemies or himself, he couldn't tell. The Qilin tattoo on his chest was burning hot, as if a ball of fire was burning beneath his skin, and golden-red light shone through his combat uniform, coalescing in front of him into a faint, indistinct phantom of a fire Qilin.

He glanced at the densely packed enemies around him and suddenly smiled.

The smile started at the corner of his mouth, slowly extending to the corner of his eyes, and finally turned into an undisguised, mocking laugh. The laughter echoed in the tunnel, crashing against the concrete walls, becoming countless overlapping echoes.

"Join you?" He finished laughing, grinning to reveal blood-stained teeth. "And then, like these people, become that 'that person's' dog?"

He raised the Snow Drinking Blade, its tip pointing at the "messenger".

"Sorry, I'm too stubborn to kneel down."

The "messenger's" smile faded slightly. He raised his hand and adjusted his glasses—this time the movement was slow, as if he were giving someone a final chance. Then, he lowered his hand, his eyes turning completely cold.

"That's a pity," he said. "Kill him."

The moment the last word landed—

"kill--!!!"

Hundreds of people moved at the same time!

The mercenaries were the first to erupt. Eight MP5s spat fire simultaneously, bullets raining down like a storm, leaving trails of scorching white in the air. The tunnel was filled with deafening gunfire, spent cartridges clattering and bouncing on the ground, emitting wisps of smoke.

After the bullets come the poisonous insects.

The three sorcerers simultaneously crushed the cloth bags in their hands, and countless black insects surged out like a tide—centipedes, scorpions, and strange winged insects whose names they couldn't identify. They crawled on the ground and flew in the air, densely packed and overwhelming, corroding even the concrete in their wake, leaving tiny pits.

The talisman also flew out at the same time.

The old Taoist priest flicked his peach wood sword, and eight talismans seemed to come alive, floating into the air and arranging themselves into a Bagua (eight trigrams) shape. He bit his tongue, spitting a mouthful of blood mist onto the talismans—

"Thunder rumbles from the heavens, thunder roars from the earth, the six Jia and six Ding, heed the name of my pass—so be it!"

"Snap—!"

A bolt of purple lightning struck down from the center of the talisman, its blinding light momentarily dimming even the fluorescent lights.

The Tibetan monks' chanting suddenly rose in volume. The three voices overlapped, forming an eerie, resonant sound wave. The sound wave was visible to the naked eye, spreading outwards like ripples on water, and fine cracks appeared on the concrete walls wherever it passed.

The samurai draws his sword.

Iaido, the art of drawing the sword. Five gleaming blades flashed simultaneously, like five bolts of lightning slicing through the air, their edges aimed at Nie Lingfeng's throat, heart, and abdomen—each a fatal spot.

A net stretching to the heavens and the earth.

A desperate situation.

Nie Lingfeng took a deep breath.

He took a long breath, until his chest expanded to its limit, until his lungs were filled with cold air. Then, he slowly exhaled.

A flash of three-colored light passed through his eyes.

"The Qi of Three Parts Returning to Origin—Open!"

"Buzz—!!!"

A hazy, three-colored vortex suddenly erupted from his body!

Centered on him, the vortex expanded and spread rapidly like a blooming lotus flower, instantly transforming into a slowly rotating wall of energy three zhang in diameter. The wall was a translucent grayish-white, its surface shimmering with three different lights—a heavy, earthy yellow, a misty grayish-white, and a deep, dark blue. These three lights intertwined, forming a perfect cycle.

The bullet hit the air wall first.

The high-speed spinning warheads slowed dramatically the moment they entered the air barrier. They continued to move forward, but at a snail's pace, like swimming in water, with every millimeter of progress requiring a tremendous effort. The kinetic energy on the warheads was stripped away layer by layer by the air barrier, until finally, they came to a complete stop less than half a meter from Nie Lingfeng's body.

"Jingle bells—"

Dozens of warheads fell to the ground, bouncing and emitting blue smoke.

The poisonous insects then crashed into it.

The moment the black insects touched the air wall, they were like meat grinders. The rotating air wall carried a terrifying cutting force, and the insects were shredded into powder in the blink of an eye, black juice splattering everywhere. But before it could even splash onto Nie Lingfeng, it was thrown away by the air wall.

The talisman's lightning struck the wall of energy.

The purple lightning collided with the grayish-white air barrier, erupting in a blinding flash! The lightning, like countless electric snakes, snaked across the surface of the air barrier, attempting to tear a hole, but the air barrier rotated, gradually dispersing and neutralizing the lightning's power. Finally, the lightning dissipated, and the air barrier only trembled slightly, with a few small cracks appearing on its surface, but these quickly healed.

A sonic attack followed immediately.

The chanting of the Tibetan monks transformed into golden ripples, crashing against the qi barrier in concentric circles. The qi barrier began to tremble violently, and the flow of the three types of light became disordered. Nie Lingfeng groaned, a trickle of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth—the sonic attack had penetrated the qi barrier's defenses, directly impacting his internal organs.

But five samurai swords struck at the same time.

The blade sliced ​​into the wall of energy as if cutting into sticky glue. The five warriors exerted force simultaneously, veins bulging on their arms, as the blades inching forward, inch by inch, approaching Nie Lingfeng's body. Their eyes remained cold, unmoved by the barrier of energy.

"Chen Duo," Nie Lingfeng hissed, "stay close to me."

He took a step forward, deliberately facing the five knives!

"boom--!!!"

The true form of the Qilin is unleashed!

Golden-red flames erupted from his body, not the gentle, flowing flames of before, but explosive, volcanic eruptions! The flames coalesced into a gigantic fire dragon, sweeping outwards from him!

The five samurai swords were the first to suffer.

The moment the blade touched the flames, it turned red and softened at a visible speed, and then—melted! Molten iron dripped onto the ground, sending up tiny sparks. The five samurai didn't even have time to react before the flames engulfed them. They screamed and rolled on the ground, but the flames, like a persistent infection, wouldn't go out no matter how they rolled. A few seconds later, the screams ceased, leaving only five charred corpses, still in a struggling posture.

The flames continued to rage.

The mercenaries tried to escape, but they couldn't. The flames were much faster than them, catching up with them in the blink of an eye and engulfing them. Their tactical vests burned, their hair burned, their skin burned, their muscles burned. Screams rose and fell, forming a terrifying chorus in the tunnel.

The sorcerers summoned poisonous insects for protection, but those insects were like paper before the flames of the Qilin. The insects were burned to ashes layer by layer, and the sorcerers, exposed to the flames, screamed and struggled, and then—fell.

The monks chanted incantations, and a golden shield coalesced before them, attempting to block the flames. The flames collided with the shield, erupting in a blinding golden light. The shield thinned and shattered bit by bit; the monks' faces turned deathly pale, blood trickling from their mouths, yet they persisted. Finally, after five seconds, the shield shattered completely, and the flames engulfed them.

The old Taoist priest did not die.

The moment the flames struck, he bit his tongue, spitting out a mouthful of blood essence. His entire body transformed into a streak of blood-red light, instantly teleporting ten meters away. He panted heavily, watching those struggling in the flames, a flicker of fear flashing in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by resolute determination.

"Demon!" he roared, pulling a bronze mirror from his robes. He bit his finger, drew a bloody talisman on the mirror's surface, and cried, "Die!"

The bronze mirror was aimed at Nie Lingfeng, and a golden beam of light shot out!

The beam of light carried an aura of vastness and righteousness; wherever it passed, even the flames of the Qilin automatically parted. The beam struck Nie Lingfeng squarely in the chest!