Chapter 60: Take It Off and Let Senior Sister See

“Crapbaskets! Why’d the protagonist power up the second he saw me?!” He Yimo thought, bewildered. “Is it my cannon fodder villain destiny automatically triggering his potential or something?! What the actual—?!”

Standing at the forefront of the crowd, He Yimo felt the air crackle and surge with Chen Jianxin’s wildly expanding spiritual energy. A fat bead of nervous sweat rolled down his cheek. Gulp. This was bad. Real bad.

He instinctively tried to inch backwards, hoping to melt silently into the relative safety of the disciples behind him.

But just as he started to retreat, he bumped right into the soft figure pressed against his back—

“Young Master He! Yun Jin will fight beside you until the very last moment!” Yun Jin declared fiercely, stepping forward resolutely and grabbing his arm tight. She refused to hide behind him. Meeting He Yimo’s stunned, questioning gaze, she pursed her lips, lifted her chin defiantly, her single ahoge standing tall against the howling wind, her eyes shining with unprecedented determination! “Mmph!”

“N-No, wait—” He Yimo started, feeling incredibly awkward. The main character looked ready to explode, and He Yimo was desperately trying to implement the ‘strategic retreat’ part of the Thirty-Six Stratagems… only to be physically anchored to the front lines by Yun Jin. Gah!

And just as He Yimo was frantically trying to formulate the words to explain the vital importance of running away right now, another soft, fragrant body pressed against his other side.

“Senior Sister Yun is right~! This little sister will also fight beside Junior Brother He until the very last moment~♡!” Jiang Jinyue purred, latching onto his other arm. She mimicked Yun Jin’s earnest tone flawlessly, tilting her adorable face up at him with wide, devoted eyes. “Meeeow~♡”

`YOU?! YOU’RE A DAMN TRAITOR! WHAT ARE YOU DOING JOINING THE PARTY?!` He Yimo screamed internally. `WHEN THE PROTAGONIST GOES BERSERK, HE’S GONNA SLICE US TWO VILLAINS FIRST! NOBODY’S GETTING OUT OF THIS!`

He felt his face contort into a perfect imitation of that Wang Lei selling fish agony meme. If his hands weren’t currently imprisoned by Yun Jin and Jiang Jinyue, he’d absolutely be pointing fingers and unleashing a torrent of creative curses right now. FOR GODSAKE! (tln : Wang Lei selling fish (王雷卖鱼): An internet meme face expressing extreme anguish/suffering/being screwed over)

But after internally raging for several seconds, constrained by his current facade, not a single suitable word escaped his lips. “…Ugh.”

BOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!!

Across the clearing, the pitch-black flames surrounding Chen Jianxin erupted outwards again. The swirling winds intensified, coalescing around him, threatening to form a raging tornado of pure, destructive energy.

“Junior Brother~♡ What’s wrong~?” Jiang Jinyue cooed sweetly, batting her eyelashes despite the gale force winds trying to rip her face off. Her hands held onto He Yimo like vices. Her enchanting peach-blossom eyes curved into happy crescents, a bright, sunny smile revealing her cute little canine teeth. “Are you moved by my devotion~?” Purrrr…

Oh yeah. He Yimo knew it then. He was utterly, completely, royally screwed. Escape was no longer an option.

“`Damn it all to hell…`” he muttered under his breath, his eyes glued nervously to the epicenter of the storm. “`Guess the fated showdown is happening ahead of schedule… Joy.`”

The other Wuji Sect disciples, and even the remaining Miyue cultists, clearly felt the same danger. Everyone instinctively retreated further, terrified of getting caught in the crossfire of those out-of-control black flames.

FWOOOSH— SHIIIIINK!

Suddenly, a blinding sword light slashed through the dark night sky!

“Villain! EAT MY SWORD!” The black flames at the heart of the storm dissipated, revealing Chen Jianxin hovering mid-air, eyes blazing with a dark golden light. He wielded a new sword, matte black and radiating menace, as he shot forward like a bullet.

CLAAAANG!!!

One of the nearby cultists instinctively raised his blood scythe to defend—but it was useless! He was instantly blown away by an impossibly overwhelming force, crashing heavily into the snow. “GAAAAH!”

The blackened Chen Jianxin didn’t just get a new eye color skin; his previously sullen face twisted into a manic, delighted grin as he watched the cultist fly. Although clearly somewhat unhinged (“a little psycho,” He Yimo thought dryly), his sword techniques and movements remained terrifyingly precise, guided by his raw, monstrous talent. He single-handedly engaged the remaining seven cultists.

“NOW DO YOU SEE?!” he roared, his voice distorted. “I AM THE TRUE SAVIOR! I DON’T NEED YOUR PITY OR CHARITY!”

Facing the terrified gazes of the Wuji Sect disciples, Chen Jianxin fought with increasing ferocity, screaming fragmented, incoherent lines, words tumbling out too fast to understand amidst the sounds of battle. But one thing was undeniable: everyone present felt a profound sense of awe and terror at his horrifying potential. This wasn’t human anymore; he fought like a demonic entity wielding a greatsword.

The boy who hunted demons… had become a demon himself.

Compared to the panicked, retreating cultists, Chen Jianxin, tearing through them like a rabid dog, now seemed far more like the actual evil entity.

“Heheheh… Kekeheheh…!” A chilling laugh escaped him. “Villains! Don’t you just LOVE slaughtering villages and making sacrifices?!”

“Don’t run away! Today, I’ll kill ALL OF YOU in the name of my kinsfolk! Offer your blood to my SWORD!”

As time stretched, within just a few frantic exchanges, the blackened Chen Jianxin had completely turned the tables. Now he was the relentless hunter, the cultists the terrified prey scrambling for their lives. Of the seven remaining cultists, Chen Jianxin had already publicly executed four in mere moments.

Unfortunately for his bloodlust, the last three cultists split up, darting desperately into the surrounding pine forest in different directions. Chen Jianxin, alone, couldn’t pursue them all.

“Damn it… DAMN IIIT…” he panted, the black flames flickering erratically around him. “Not enough! It’s not enough blood to consecrate my sword!”

After a moment of heavy silence, Chen Jianxin emerged slowly from the trees, dragging his heavy black sword behind him. His demonic aura pulsed with killing intent and twisted satisfaction. The blade wasn’t just stained red; chunks of flesh still clung gruesomely to it, adding to the stench of gore and the sinister vibe of the black flame wings burning on his back. He swayed slightly, clearly exhausted, but his dark golden eyes remained fixed intently ahead.

Chen Jianxin, the returning killer, stumbled back into the view of the Wuji Sect disciples. But the figure who should have been their hero now inspired only fear. There was no sense of safety, only terror. Even the few disciples who had previously followed him closely now trembled uncontrollably. The cultists were gone, yes, but now the Wuji Sect disciples were arguably more afraid of the blood-crazed Chen Jianxin.

“Why…?” Chen Jianxin whispered, his voice raspy, stalking towards the huddled group. “Why is no one cheering for me…?” His golden pupils trembled with perceived betrayal.

“He Yimo…”

“He Yimo…” His voice was low, but the undiminished killing intent in his gaze locked onto the handsome youth standing at the forefront, still bracketed by the two girls clinging to his arms.

Shit. He Yimo knew he’d been targeted. He felt a primal sense of danger wash over him. He’d suspected this: Chen Jianxin was berserk, couldn’t catch the last three cultists, and now needed a new target for his rage. And guess who was conveniently positioned right in front? Him.

“He Yimo…!” Another low growl. A flash of red pulsed within Chen Jianxin’s golden eyes. He lowered his stance—FWOOM!—and exploded forward like a sprinter off the blocks. His figure blurred, executing two instantaneous flashes mid-air—Zip! Zip!—and in the next blink, appeared directly in front of He Yimo, sword raised high to strike—

“`WTF?! ZERO-FRAME STARTUP ATTACK?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!`” He Yimo yelped internally, staring death in the face as Chen Jianxin materialized scant inches away. A deep crimson eye sigil flashed almost invisibly within his own pupils. He twisted sideways, dodging by instinct, his left arm simultaneously erupting into the black scaled armor once more.

But just as Chen Jianxin’s hate-fueled strike was about to descend—shiiiiing—He Yimo felt a familiar, yet startlingly intense, wave of icy sword intent bloom behind him—

SHIIIIIING!!!

CLAAAANG!!!

A silver sword materialized seemingly from nowhere, streaking past He Yimo’s face, missing him by a hair’s breadth. Its point struck Chen Jianxin’s descending black sword perfectly on the hilt.

Clatter.

In that instant, the matte black sword was knocked flying from Chen Jianxin’s grasp. He let out a choked gasp—”Guh?!”—and was violently thrown backward, clutching his wrist in agony as he crashed kneeling before the crowd.

He Yimo froze, bathed in the overwhelming pressure radiating from behind him. He didn’t dare move a muscle, just stood there rigidly, staring blankly as Chen Jianxin curled up on the ground, whimpering in pain. Holy hell. If He Yimo had tilted his head even slightly during that dodge… he’d be the one sleeping like a baby on the ground right now, not Chen Jianxin!

“Yimo. Are you alright?” A gentle female voice, utterly contrasting the deadly sword intent that still lingered, called softly from above and behind the crowd.

The disciples whirled around, looking up. A breathtakingly beautiful figure in white descended gracefully from the sky on her sword. As the White-Robed Sword Kensei neared He Yimo, her elegant high-heeled shoes, though still hovering inches above the snow, seemed to tread on invisible steps, creating faint ripples of spiritual energy in the air with each movement. It was as if the icy sword intent itself formed ethereal platforms, allowing her to land smoothly before the youth like descending a staircase.

“S-Senior Sister Mo…” Unlike the other disciples gawking at the display of power, He Yimo, the moment he turned, found his gaze instantly, magnetically drawn to the pair of perfect, black-silk-clad legs beneath the white skirt. Focus, He Yimo, focus! He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Only when the imposing fairy stood directly before him did He Yimo reluctantly drag his gaze upwards, bowing his head slightly in a respectful fist-and-palm salute.

Except… the moment he bowed his head, his line of sight landed directly back on those mesmerizing black silk legs. Oops.

“…?” Mo Yuyan’s beautiful eyebrow arched slightly. She bit her lip, the initial worry in her eyes fading rapidly, replaced by something else… annoyance? Resignation? Hard to tell. Remembering the watching disciples, however, she took a deep, calming breath, suppressed whatever emotion was rising, and flicked her wrist. The Yin Frost Sword hummed softly as she used its tip to gently lift He Yimo’s chin, forcing him to meet her eyes—

“Take off your clothes,” she commanded coolly, her voice utterly devoid of warmth despite the shocking words. “Let Senior Sister see if you’re injured.”