Living In Another World With A Farm Chapter 8462 8462: Fear (1)

Upon discovering that Feng Zhongxin practiced sword cultivation, the adversaries froze in astonishment. As typical rogue cultivators, they harbored the deepest reluctance toward facing four particular types: sword cultivators, poison cultivators, body cultivators, and followers of major sects. These were precisely the sorts loose cultivators dreaded most, and should encounters occur, provoking them was the last thing desired. Hence, the sight of Feng Zhongxin as a sword cultivator left them shocked and uncertain.

Yet, a malicious spark ignited in one man's gaze, prompting him to yell, "Why cower? He's nothing but a sword cultivator. What threat does a single sword cultivator pose to us? Plus, he's just a rogue sword cultivator without any real inheritance to back him up. Slay them, and all their belongings fall into our hands. Charge!"

The group paused in surprise at his words initially, but soon their stares turned savage. They lunged forward weapons in hand against the pair. Their movements betrayed a history of ambushes and thefts. Though the revelation of Feng Zhongxin's sword cultivation had sparked some caution, true fear evaded them. With their leader's urging, their ruthless side surged to the forefront.

Feng Zhongxin's face twisted at their aggressive approach. He prepared to strike just as Zhao Hai's steady voice cut in: "Hold on, Brother Feng. These foes pose no danger to us." The calm tone carried weight that left Feng Zhongxin reeling. He shot Zhao Hai a puzzled glance, baffled by the unexpected restraint.

Zhao Hai offered no explanation, merely tilting his head to observe the charging assailants. Feng Zhongxin followed suit, only to gape in horror as his features drained of color. The attackers' complexions had blackened entirely—not from rage, but a genuine, eerie darkness that made them ghastly. As a seasoned rogue cultivator, Feng Zhongxin instantly recognized the signs of poisoning.

The victims appeared oblivious to their plight, pressing their assault undeterred. Yet, mere meters from reach, their eyes bulged wildly, and black blood erupted from their mouths. They crumpled lifelessly to the earth.

Surveying the eight lifeless forms sprawled before him, Feng Zhongxin shivered from head to toe, his scalp prickling with dread. Zhao Hai had once claimed expertise in poisons, but Feng Zhongxin dismissed it as modest skill in the art. Today's display shattered that illusion entirely.

The poisoning likely struck during their confrontation, perhaps even amid the verbal exchange. Feng Zhongxin hadn't the faintest clue as to the method or moment. The doomed men remained equally clueless until death's grasp tightened. The sheer subtlety chilled him to the core.

Feng Zhongxin gawked at the bodies, words failing him. Zhao Hai approached the fallen, rifling through their possessions before rejoining his companion. Snapping from his trance, Feng Zhongxin fixed a wide-eyed stare on Zhao Hai, his emotions flickering wildly. Finally, he exhaled deeply and murmured, "Impressive work, Brother Zhao. Your poison mastery is unmatched."

"Nothing special. Let's head back, Brother Feng," Zhao Hai replied lightly. He kept his true motives hidden from Feng Zhongxin. Deploying the toxin served to showcase his prowess, a subtle alert born from sensing the man's hidden agenda. Should Feng Zhongxin heed the warning and abandon his schemes, peace could prevail; otherwise, consequences awaited.

Zhao Hai remained unaware of the wind envoy's true purpose. Had he known their quest tied to the Ghostwind Bandits' hoard, he'd have ended them without mercy. Though the treasure's location eluded him, he grasped that treasure hunters rarely spared rivals. A millennium-long pursuit had woven obsession into their souls.

Feng Zhongxin eyed Zhao Hai warily, anxiety gnawing at him. Against such lethal poison expertise, clashing outright spelled disaster—he couldn't bear to ponder it. Was tangling with this foe truly wise? Treasures tempted, but survival trumped all.

Though turmoil churned within, Feng Zhongxin masked it seamlessly. He nodded to Zhao Hai and declared, "Very well, let's return. This spot reeks of peril now; lingering invites doom." Together, they ascended from the blood sea, vanishing swiftly into its depths. The corpses of the cultivators? Utterly ignored—no benevolence extended to burial rites for such scum.

Soon after their departure, several silhouettes materialized near the remains. The gruesome scene drew sharp intakes of breath, twisting their features into grim masks. Poison's handiwork was plain, fueling their grim unease.

One spoke up: "A true poison virtuoso indeed. Pity we missed the method from afar. Back we go—interrogate Feng Zhongxin, then alert Brother Wen at once. Move!" The group assented, soaring upward. Even Wang Liang held his tongue; hot-headed as he was, folly had no place here. A body cultivator like him still quaked at poison's shadow—facing it meant courting catastrophe.

In a fog of bewilderment, Feng Zhongxin escorted Zhao Hai to Blood Lake Island. He suggested rest, citing the day's exhaustive efforts and the late hour—sales could wait till dawn. Zhao Hai agreed without protest, retiring to his quarters.

Feng Zhongxin retreated to his inn and hastened to Wen Liren's chamber. A knock yielded Wen Liren's prompt reply: "Back already, Zhongxin? Enter." Pushing inside, Feng Zhongxin halted in surprise—nearly all his comrades gathered there.

Feng Zhongxin hurried to tidy up and claimed a seat at Wen Liren's gesture. Wen Liren fixed him with an intent gaze: "Zhongxin, recount your outing with Zhao today. Gauge his power, especially those poison talents?"

A wry nod escaped Feng Zhongxin as he intoned gravely, "Blood jade flowers fetched high prices today, so I proposed harvesting some to bond with him. Things progressed well—we gathered plenty. But crowds swelled, stripping the blooms fast. As we turned to leave, thugs blocked our path. I aimed to shield Zhao from action, focused solely on rapport, wary of suspicion. Future chances abounded, after all. So I flashed my sword cultivator status to intimidate them into backing off. Unexpectedly, they stood firm and geared for assault. Then Zhao struck—timing unknown, toxin unidentified. Just as they closed in, poison felled them dead."

Wen Liren blinked in shock at the tale, then probed uncertainly, "So you're saying the method eludes you entirely? No clue on the timing or action? Perhaps no poison art at all?" Doubt clouded Wen Liren's mind; the account strained credulity.

Feng Zhongxin managed a bitter chuckle: "No poison arts apparent, and I caught no hint of his move or when it happened. I'd barely exchanged words with them before they drew arms for attack. Yet, ten feet out, they collapsed, bodies blackening, blood spewing forth. The poison's nature? A mystery. It unfolded in a blur."

Recounting it sent shivers through Feng Zhongxin anew. The listeners shared the dread, catching the raw incredulity and terror in his voice. Wang Liang and those who'd viewed the bodies felt icy tendrils grip their hearts.

Wen Liren's countenance shifted uneasily. After a pause, he furrowed his brow: "Evidently, Zhao's no braggart—his poison command is elite. This complicates matters. Ideas on countering him, anyone?" The dilemma weighed heavy; an unseen poisoner like this demanded caution, lest a single slip claim their lives.

Silence gripped Feng Zhongxin and the rest. Truth be told, such an enigmatic adversary left them stumped. The assault's oddity defied defense—if the method stayed hidden, how to shield against it? A death sentence, plain and simple.

Wen Liren growled deeply, "Regardless, here's the plan: Zhongxin, keep nurturing that tie and seek a chance to inebriate him or devise alternatives. Anyone versed in poisoning a poison master? Even non-lethal drugs work—probe for antidotes too. We end this swiftly. With our numbers, Zhao won't stand a chance—I refuse to yield!"