High Martial: I Use Everything as Swords

Combined with the change left over from testing the weapons, Han Feng’s total assets had steadily broken the forty-thousand mark.

He swiped a finger across the screen, savoring the sense of security that came with such a hefty number.

"Thank you, Captain."

"You’ve earned it."

Zhang Hao clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes filled with pure, unadulterated admiration.

In the distance, the farm’s director, Lei Zhen, stood atop a massive wooden crate, his burly figure raising a mechanical prosthetic limb high in the air, its surface glinting with a metallic sheen.

"To Golden Ears Farm! And to all the brothers who’ve bled and sweated for this land!"

"RAAAH!!"

The workers’ cheers mingled with the pilots’ boisterous banter, rising up into the sky.

The bonfire swayed violently in the night wind, and the crackle of burning wood was incessant.

It was a joyous symphony, a sound incredibly precious in this post-apocalyptic world.

At the very peak of the fervent celebration...

A bloodcurdling scream suddenly tore through the air.

The voice was distorted, as if coming from a strangled throat, its shrill cry cutting through all the clamor.

"Some—one’s—dead—!"

The cheering stopped dead.

The music cut out.

Everyone’s smiles froze on their faces.

The bonfire still blazed, but its warm light now cast a sinister, eerie glow.

The firelight stretched everyone’s shadows long and thin, twisting madly on the ground.

A young guard in uniform came scrambling into the square.

His face was ghastly pale, completely drained of color.

Halfway across, his legs gave out and he collapsed, unable to get back up.

"What happened?! What’s all the panic? Get a grip!"

The guard captain, Wang Defa, darted over. With one of his huge, fan-like hands, he hauled the young guard up from the ground, his voice booming like a great bell.

The guard’s body trembled like a leaf in the wind.

He shakily pointed toward the darkness beyond the square, his lips quivering uncontrollably.

"Un... Uncle Qian... He... he’s in Warehouse Number Three... He’s dead! He died so horribly!"

’Warehouse Number Three? Uncle Qian?’

An image flashed through Han Feng’s mind: a gaunt, silent figure who was always stooped over.

He was the old man in charge of the farm’s spare parts, someone who barely registered.

Han Feng had only seen him a few times when collecting supplies.

Zhang Hao’s face fell. He tossed his cup aside.

"Come on, let’s go take a look."

Wang Meng slammed the half-eaten beast leg in his hand onto the table, grabbed the Alloy Battle Saber propped up beside him, and strode after them.

Han Feng said nothing, simply downing the last of his drink in one gulp.

The cold liquid slid down his throat, instantly steadying his nerves.

Without a word, he followed close behind, heading into the darkness that had swallowed the light.

The three of them cut through the frozen crowd. The bonfire and the clamor behind them seemed to vanish, cut off by an invisible wall.

The world fell silent.

The closer they got to Warehouse Number Three, the colder and damper the air became.

Warehouse Number Three was located at the edge of the farm, surrounded by only a few dim streetlights.

In the corners untouched by the light, shadows pooled so thick they seemed solid.

The warehouse’s heavy iron door was ajar.

A peculiar odor drifted from the crack in the door, a mixture of rust, machine oil, and the stench of blood.

Zhang Hao frowned and pushed the door open.

WHOOSH—

An even thicker stench, like countless rotting organs mixed with spoiled eggs, slammed into them.

Caught off guard, Wang Meng gagged, nearly bringing up his dinner.

The lights weren’t on in the warehouse.

Cold moonlight from the window barely managed to trace the grim outlines of the tall shelves inside.

Beside a shelf against the wall, a twisted human figure was curled up, looking like a pile of discarded rags.

Zhang Hao turned on his tactical flashlight.

A blinding beam of light instantly tore through the darkness, precisely locking onto that corner.

Even Wang Meng, who was accustomed to the sight of Demon Beast Remains, felt his pupils contract and his stomach churn at the sight before him.

It was the warehouse manager, Uncle Qian.

Except he was barely recognizable as human anymore.

His entire body had been completely drained of moisture.

Skin, muscle, fat—all his Life Force had been sucked dry, leaving only a shriveled layer of skin stretched tightly over his bones.

He was frozen in an eerily contorted, fetal position.

His face was locked in an expression of absolute terror from the moment of his death.

His eyes were bulging, the eyeballs looking as if they were about to pop out of their desiccated sockets.

His mouth was stretched wide, as if he had been about to scream one last time, a cry for help that was now eternally trapped in his throat.

The most terrifying thing was his chest.

There was a bowl-sized cavity there, the flesh around its edges an ominous, purplish-black.

It was still fizzing with tiny bubbles, emitting a sickening, corrosive SIZZLE that set one’s teeth on edge.

"Dammit, what kind of Demon Beast did this?"

Wang Meng cursed under his breath, his grip so tight on the hilt of his Alloy Battle Saber that it creaked.

Han Feng furrowed his brow.

He didn’t get any closer.

Instead, he silently activated [Spiritual Vision].

Instantly, all color drained from the world before his eyes.

In its place were countless flowing lines of Energy, representing the fundamental Laws of the world.

And coiled around Uncle Qian’s corpse was a strand of exceedingly cold and foul, dark-red Energy.

The Energy emanated an aura of brutality, hunger, and greed.

Like countless tiny, invisible worms twisting madly on the surface of the corpse.

It was utterly different from the Demonic Power of any Demon Beast he had ever seen.

The source of that Energy was the very cavity in the corpse’s chest.

Under his Spiritual Vision, the hole wasn’t a wound at all. It was a miniature vortex that pulsed with malice, frantically devouring the surrounding light and life force.

"This wasn’t a Demon Beast."

Zhang Hao was already crouching. He didn’t touch the corpse directly, instead using a dagger to carefully lift a small piece of the purplish-black tissue from the wound’s edge.

He brought it to the tip of his nose and sniffed gently.

His expression grew incredibly grim.

"This corrosive blood toxin, and this method of draining all of a body’s Blood Essence... there’s no mistaking it. This is the work of an Evil Cultist from the Blood Feeding Sect."

"The Blood Feeding Sect?"

Wang Meng froze. He’d only ever seen that name on the Demon Hunter Guild’s wanted lists.

It’s one of the most infamous Evil Cults on the Gaia Alliance’s official wanted list.

"Don’t they only operate in the ruins of the fallen zones? What are they doing here at Golden Ears Farm?"

"The members of this Evil Cult use their own Blood Essence and souls to feed a vile parasite known as a ’Blood Gu’."

Zhang Hao’s voice was low, laced with a bone-deep disgust.

"The Blood Gu can drastically increase its host’s power."

"But it’s like a bottomless pit. It needs a constant supply of high-quality ’Blood Food’—the Qi Blood essence of Martial Artists and Demon Beasts—to evolve."

He gestured with his dagger toward Uncle Qian’s desiccated corpse.

"The state of this corpse is a classic case of ’Blood Gu backlash’."

"It means the Blood Gu inside that Evil Cultist is on the verge of going out of control."

"After going too long without a high-quality Blood Food supplement, it’s started to turn on its host."

"To save his own skin, the Evil Cultist has become desperate enough to prey on ordinary people."

Han Feng’s heart sank.

An Evil Cultist driven mad by the will to survive was more dangerous and unpredictable than any Demon Beast.

Just then, the sound of urgent, heavy footsteps approached.

The farm director, Lei Zhen, and the guard captain, Wang Defa, arrived on the scene with a squad of fully-armed guards.

When Lei Zhen saw the horrific state of Uncle Qian’s body, his weathered face instantly darkened, so grim it looked like you could wring water from it.

His mechanical prosthetic clenched so tightly that it groaned, emitting a grating, metallic screech.

After hearing Zhang Hao’s analysis, Wang Defa’s expression became just as ugly.

He suddenly realized something, and his face changed dramatically.

"Ever since the last beast tide, the farm’s defense level has been at its highest!"

"The high-voltage electric net Rune Array on the composite alloy walls is active twenty-four hours a day, and every entrance and exit is monitored by Spiritual Energy Sentry Cannons."

"Never mind a person, not even a fly can get out of here!"

His words sent a jolt through everyone present.

Which meant... the killer.

The Evil Cultist from the Blood Feeding Sect, nursing an out-of-control abomination.

Was still trapped inside this farm!

He was right here among them!