Chapter 22: The Capture
This novel is translated and hosted on BCatranslation
Qin Ming crept up the rocky slope, his breath coming out in shallow puffs that mingled with the cold mountain air. During all this, he kept low, eyes darting to the dark treetops above. He was near the spot where he’d buried his weapons and armor, concealed beneath a thick canopy of leaves. A massive, ancient tree loomed nearby, so wide that it would take several people holding hands to circle its trunk. He slipped behind it, pressing his back against the rough bark.
Just as he had anticipated, the group below was making their way toward the Blood Bamboo Grove. He counted eleven of them, all young, all muscular, moving like shadows in the dimness of the shallow night. They were fast—much like the wind—and soon they reached the entrance to the valley.
In the dim glow that still lingered over the valley floor, Qin Ming could see their faces clearly. They were all in their prime, wearing gleaming armor that caught the last of the light, each gripping a long blade that glinted with a cold, deadly shine. The way they moved together was unnerving. Even as they rushed forward, they kept perfect formation, a single unit. At the valley’s mouth, they raised their blades in unison, every man on high alert.
“Patrolmen,” Qin Ming muttered under his breath, his lips curling into a knowing smile.
Their armor was standard issue, just like the gear that Feng Yian, Shao Cheng Feng, and the others wore. But these men carried long blades instead of the usual iron-tipped spears. Clearly, they had chosen their weapons with a purpose. When dealing with snakes, long blades were better suited—far more effective than the standard spears most patrol teams favored.
As the last of the light faded away, the group dropped their packs at the valley’s entrance, revealing an assortment of bottles and jars inside. With swift, practiced motions, they began mixing something—powders, liquids—whatever they needed for the task ahead.
“Looks like they know what they’re doing,” Qin Ming thought, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe they’ve got what it takes to wipe out this nest of blood snakes.”
Moments later, another figure came rushing through the dense forest, panting heavily as he reached the group at the valley entrance. The others turned to him, their expressions tense.
“Feng Yian and his crew are gone,” he said between gasps. “Their base is empty. And get this—the wooden huts on the mountain? They’ve all disappeared!”
A ripple of confusion passed through the group. One of them furrowed his brow, murmuring, “Weren’t they supposed to be moving on the Blood Bamboo Grove? Where could they have gone? Don’t tell me they got wiped out by mountain monsters.”
Another man shrugged, his face shadowed by doubt. “Lately, we’ve seen nobles from Scarlet Dawn City and some big-shot organizations around these parts. Some of them have already gone up the mountain. Maybe Feng Yian and his gang picked a fight they couldn’t win.”
Their leader commanded attention, his presence alone enough to silence the group. “Forget about Feng Yian for now,” he said, his voice firm. “I was worried about crossing into his territory to hunt blood snakes—thought we might end up in a fight to the death. But if they’re out of the picture, that’s even better for us.”
“Heaven’s on our side, then!” one of the patrolmen exclaimed with a grin, his spirits visibly lifted.
Their leader, Liu Huai Shan, was a mountain of a man, his build imposing and solid as a boulder. “Listen up,” he growled, his deep voice rolling like distant thunder. “If things go bad, we run. No second chances. Every man for himself. Understand?”
The group nodded, their expressions steely with determination. They were here for one reason: the chance of a second awakening. For Liu Huai Shan, it was a chance to secure his eldest son’s future. None of them were here for glory—they were here because they had no choice.
They moved silently into the valley, following a plan they had rehearsed well. At the front, Liu Huai Shan stepped forward alone. As a second awakener himself, he carried the heaviest burden. Bottles and jars clinked in his hands as he advanced. When he was a good distance away, he lit the contents of several jars and hurled them toward the Flame Spring.
Thick yellow smoke erupted, curling through the air. More jars followed—ones filled with medicinal powders and other liquids—thrown with precise aim into the glowing area.
As soon as he finished, Liu Huai Shan retreated, putting a safe distance between himself and the danger.
The rest of the patrolmen waited, their nerves as taut as bowstrings. They, too, began to back away, inching toward the valley entrance.
From the depths of the Flame Spring, the smoke rose thick and fast, and soon enough, the commotion began. Over a dozen small snakes, each several feet long, darted out first, slithering rapidly around the area like scouts on a mission.
Then came the giants—two massive snakes, each more than four meters long, their scales glowing like molten crimson steel. When they brushed against each other, the sound was like swords clashing. They surged toward the valley entrance with terrifying speed, sometimes lifting off the ground entirely, streaking through the air like blood-red javelins. A chilling hiss escaped their fanged mouths, filled with rage and malice.
“Two of them?!” one of the patrolmen gasped, eyes wide with fear. “No one said there’d be two big ones!”
“This is bad,” muttered another, his face pale as the snow beneath his feet.
“RUN!” Liu Huai Shan bellowed. “The smoke and the snake drug—it’s not working!”
They needed no further encouragement. Seasoned fighters as they were, they knew when a fight was lost. Without a second thought, they turned tail and ran.
Liu Huai Shan, with his second awakening, was the fastest of them all. Though he’d started at the back, his powerful strides soon brought him to the front of the fleeing group.
One of the giant snakes was right behind them, slithering like a crimson tide. It paused briefly on a large boulder, coiling up as if to spring. Then, like a bolt of bloody lightning, it launched itself into the air.
The sight was terrifying—a massive serpent soaring through the night sky, with the sound of wind and thunder roaring in its wake.
CRACK!
The patrolman at the rear was struck as though by a giant spear. His armor, reinforced with two layers of iron, shattered upon impact, metal shards scattering like deadly confetti. The snake’s head, as hard as forged steel, tore through his defenses, sending him sprawling into the snow.
This man wasn’t inexperienced; he’d taken precautions and had a thick iron plate strapped to his back. It saved him from being skewered, but not from the sheer force of the blow. Before he could rise, the blood snake coiled around him with astonishing speed.
Had it been any ordinary serpent, even a large one, it wouldn’t have stood a chance against an awakened human. But this was no ordinary snake.
The patrolman screamed in agony as the snake tightened its grip. His armor crumbled like paper under the pressure, bones snapping like dry twigs. The snake struck at his face, and where its fangs sank in, flesh melted away.
Within moments, he was dead.
The blood snake’s terrifying attributes were on full display—a body as hard as iron, incredible strength, the ability to leap and strike like a living arrow, and a venom that could melt flesh on contact.
Meanwhile, the other large snake had leaped from the valley as well, vanishing into the dense forest. Another patrolman’s scream pierced the night.
Back at the valley entrance, the snake abandoned its first victim and resumed its chase.
By the time the fourth patrolman was caught in the blood snake’s coils, Liu Huai Shan had reappeared. With a long, sharp blade gripped tightly in both hands, he charged at the serpent, slashing down with all the power he could muster.
The blade sliced through the air and struck the snake’s body. Crimson scales shattered, and bright blood began to seep out.
But the wound was shallow. Any lesser creature would have been cleaved in two.
Liu Huai Shan didn’t let up. Again and again, he struck, but the snake was fast, its movements slippery and unpredictable. It dodged and swerved, never allowing him to hit the same spot twice. He managed to inflict several wounds, but none were deep enough to be fatal.
Hissing in pain, the blood snake released its prey—who was beyond saving—and turned its fury on Liu Huai Shan.
Its hiss summoned its companion, the other large snake, which sped back like a crimson blur through the darkness.
Realizing he was outmatched, Liu Huai Shan sighed deeply. He knew he’d had his best chance, and he’d failed to kill the beast. Staying would mean certain death. Without another glance, he turned and sprinted into the forest.
The two large snakes pursued him, but the injured one began to lag behind. Its wounds were slowing it down, the cold making it sluggish. Before long, it halted, hissing its frustration before turning back toward the valley.
…
Qin Ming stood on the slope near the valley entrance, his face half-hidden by a black cloth that left only his keen eyes visible. Four layers of armor weighed on his body, but he remained unmoving, as still as a shadow under the pale light.
Before him, several iron spears jutted from the snow like dark spines, and a long blade lay nearby, its edge catching a faint glimmer of light. Strapped to his back was a black hammer with a long handle, ready for action.
Before long, the snake had made its return. He heard it before he saw it—the soft rustling of something heavy sliding over snow. The blood snake, the four-meter-long one he had been tracking, was returning. It was clearly hurt; its once-vibrant crimson scales were dulled, with several missing altogether. Its slithering was slow, sluggish, and pained.
Qin Ming’s eyes narrowed, a spark of focus igniting within them. His hand shot out and gripped one of the iron spears stuck in the snow. He drew it out smoothly, then took a deep breath, steadying himself. With a grunt, he hurled the spear with all his strength toward the approaching snake.
There was no hesitation. He grabbed a second spear, then a third, throwing each one in quick, practiced succession.
The blood snake hissed furiously as the spears streaked toward it. Two found their mark, smashing through its scales and tearing fresh wounds across its body.
The serpent’s anger erupted. It coiled up a nearby tree in one swift motion and then launched itself at Qin Ming like a blazing red bolt of lightning, intent on skewering him with its fangs.
For a heartbeat, Qin Ming thought about drawing his blade. But as the snake closed the distance, he changed his mind. His fingers tightened around the handle of the black hammer. He swung it upward with every ounce of his strength.
The collision was violent. The snake’s head met the hammer with a deafening clang that echoed through the valley, sending up a spray of sparks. The giant serpent was knocked from its mid-air trajectory and crashed heavily into the snow, writhing in pain, its body convulsing.
For the smaller snakes, a hammer would’ve been too cumbersome; they were too quick, too elusive. But this giant one had practically thrown itself at him. He wouldn’t let this chance slip away.
The snake was gravely wounded. Its head bore a deep dent, and its bones were audibly cracking beneath its scales, but it wasn’t finished yet.
Qin Ming wasn’t either. Without a second thought, he grabbed the long blade from the snow and charged, his feet churning through the drifts. With all his might, he swung down again and again, not stopping until the last blow severed the serpent’s head.
“Gotcha!” Qin Ming whispered, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. “This is the prize that’s gonna bring me my second awakening.”
He looked down at the fallen serpent, a spiritual beast of great value and power. This could change everything for him.
Suddenly, a hiss broke his thoughts. Several smaller blood snakes were slithering toward him, their bodies ranging from three to seven feet in length. They sprang into the air like arrows, aimed straight at him.
Qin Ming didn’t flinch. He stood his ground, wielding his blade with a fluid, deadly grace. One by one, he cut them down, his movements swift and precise, until six more snake corpses lay scattered across the snow.
Satisfied, he sheathed his blade and pulled out a beast-skin bag, ready to collect his well-earned spoils. But then, an instinctive prickle crept up the back of his neck—a warning.
He dived to the side just as an iron arrow sliced through the air, embedding itself in the snow where he’d just been standing. Two more arrows followed, scraping against his armor and sending off sparks as they ricocheted away, thudding deep into a nearby tree trunk.
Qin Ming straightened, his grip firm on his blade, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the distance at the figures now emerging from the shadows.
“Seriously?” he called out, his tone light but carrying an edge. “I’m just here hunting snakes, and now you want to hunt me?”
His words were calm, almost teasing, but his gaze was sharp and unyielding, like a predator assessing its prey.