37 You Think I... Won't Kill You?

Qi Shun seems to glide effortlessly and soundlessly beside his shorter counterpart, who struggles to follow Wen Po's brisk pace. The merchant's usually languid gait has become an uncharacteristically urgent, almost frantic march.

"S-Senior brother! Wait, ah! You're going a little—... too fast!" Xu Jiyu is forced to break into a half-jog as the two taller men seem rather unconcerned with regulating their pace.

Qi Shun immediately staggers the length of each of his steps, and calls out. "Did you not hear Xu Jiyu? Slow yourself." Wen Po does not miss the imperiousness in the voice emanating from Liu Jian's body.

The robes the merchant is wearing don't hide the tension in his body. As he suddenly halts, the muscles in his back ripple, and Xu Jiyu shivers at the waves of blood lust ebbing and flowing from his body. Wen Po, famous for his jovial temperament and ability to get along with most anyone, is seething with rage. At this moment, he does not give the same impression of a kind, older brother, but rather a grizzled berserker donning his armaments in preparation for war. After a moment, he resumes leading the pair to Fang Lei, although at a markedly reduced speed.

---

Fang Lei lays with his hands folded on his stomach, resting on a bed. A few sect members stood around him, keeping watch as Wen Po had told them to before he'd rushed off to find help. The youth's skin was pale, almost translucent, and cold to the touch. Qi Shun stands in the doorway, clearly irritated that he has to sacrifice his long-awaited time with Xu Jiyu. In the meantime, Xu Jiyu is examining Fang Lei.

"It's as if he's only asleep, but his skin is ice cold," the youth marvels, lifting a hand from the body's forehead.

"Oi, you. You said you knew something about this. Fix it," Wen Po sends an upward nod in Qi Shun's direction, his lack of respect plain to see.

The King of Spirits has, in his thousands of years, rarely been addressed in this manner of speaking. His already barely manageable aggravation is beginning to peak. "Watch your tongue, peasant." Qi Shun continues staring at Xu Jiyu's back, not even deigning to make eye contact as he speaks.

The King notices a quick, vertical motion in the corner of his eye. His peripheral foresight allows him to catch a rather forcefully thrown slipper, but he isn't quite ready for what comes next. Using the slipper as a diversion, Wen Po has already closed the distance between them, and manages to catch Qi Shun with a powerful body blow. Unprepared, Liu Jian's body is knocked backward through the doorway. Stumbling, the King is enraged, and attempts to summon his spiritual sword. Halfway through manifesting it, however, he is again pushed back; Wen Po followed up his opening body blow with a shoulder charge, running headlong at Qi Shun. The flash of silver that had dealt with so many warriors was knocked away, spinning a few paces and coming to rest on the ground.

"You've done nothing but piss me off, today," Wen Po stands above the King.

He remembers the first time he met Liu Jian, but at the time there was no reason to provoke him. But now, the reason to do so is as clear as day. How dare this person look down on Fang Lei? Fang Lei's life wasn't something to be easily discarded like that!

In fact, the last time he met Liu Jian was just earlier, when the man was actually gentle and kind. How did he change back so quickly? Of course… people couldn't change so fast! He should've known better! "I knew you were a cold bastard, but I really might kill you."

Qi Shun responds with nothing but silence and an ominous snap of his fingers. The merchant barely has an instant to sway backward as the King's dependable technique returns his weapon to him, nearly removing his head in the process.

Almost immediately, the tide of battle reverses. The King seems to be merely drawing shapes in the air, while peacefully sitting cross-legged, as Wen Po is forced to retreat backward, waltzing with death. Xu Jiyu would be tempted to laugh at how comical the scene is to a bystander, if not for the gravity of the situation.

"HA!" Wen Po exclaims in triumph, holding the spiritual sword aloft; his robe is noticeably cut and torn in multiple places, as blood seeps into the fabric.

The merchant, in an extraordinary display of uncanny reflex, had been able to catch the hilt of the ethereal blade during one of his compulsory back-steps. Having avoided the lethal edge and secured his grip on the weapon, he now stood wearing with a smug grin. However, the King himself allowed a small smirk to emerge within his own expression. Wen Po realized a second too late the mistake he'd made.

The primal, anguished roar of pain tore through the ears of the spectators, none of whom had had the confidence in their own strength to attempt to bring the two to a halt. Their inhuman abilities had intimidated the sect members. These same sect members watched as the King's sword suddenly, violently twisted itself in Wen Po's grip.

"F*cking hell!" Wen Po's furious cry rang out.

His wrist was undoubtedly broken, the sword had turned it almost all the way around. Still unable to let go of the King's deadly armament, Wen Po is totally at Qi Shun's mercy. And of course, Qi Shun shows none.

The sword continues to wrench the merchant's wrist around, putting the man through excruciating pain, until finally the King raises his hand. The blade, with no sign of difficulty, lifts the ragged, bloodied Wen Po into the air, his hand spellbound to the hilt.

"Qi Shun, please! Enough is enough, you'll kill him!" Xu Jiyu pleads, running forward and desperately pulling at the King's arm.

The King's hardened eyes soften, taking in Xu Jiyu's features.

"... Let… go of me… you think I won't... kill you… oi…" The merchant is barely conscious at this point, but he stares down at the pair with half-lidded, glazed eyes.

His body was at death's door, but his spirit had yet to break. His gaze held nothing but vicious condescension. Those cold, platinum hues returned, and the King's hand closed into a fist.

The sword doesn't hesitate, shooting itself down toward the ground, Wen Po in tow. Those watching the battle gasp in shock, some can't bear to look, as the powerless merchant is slammed into the ground.

"Senior brother!"

"Brother Wen Po!"

"Call the sect leader!"

Liu Jian's signature silver spiritual sword is buried in the ground, its blade mostly hidden in the earth. Wen Po's battered body lays beside it, his hand still wrapped around the hilt. The man's eyes remain open, dulled, yet burning as if they're the gates to Hell. Rivulets of arterial red run along the blade's cross-guard and edge, as the dirt is stained the color of wine.