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

When the opponents noticed Feng Zhongxin was a sword cultivator, shock rippled through their group. As typical rogue cultivators, they dreaded encountering four types above all: sword cultivators, poison cultivators, body cultivators, and sect disciples. These were the figures rogue cultivators avoided clashing with at all costs, and even if paths crossed, provoking them was the last thing they'd risk. Thus, spotting Feng Zhongxin's sword cultivator status left them frozen in hesitation and surprise.

Yet, a sinister spark lit in one man's gaze, and he bellowed, "Why fear him? He's merely a sword cultivator. What harm can one sword cultivator bring us? Besides, he's just a rogue sword cultivator who might've scraped by on some inheritance. Once we take them down, all their belongings become ours. Attack!"

His words hit the group like a thunderclap, stunning them briefly before wild ferocity ignited in their eyes. Weapons drawn, they charged at the pair without delay. Their movements screamed of habitual bandits, killers who preyed on the weak. Though Feng Zhongxin's sword cultivator aura had sparked caution, true terror evaded them. Now, with their leader's command, savage instincts surged forth.

Feng Zhongxin's face twisted at their aggressive rush. He tensed to strike, but Zhao Hai's steady voice cut in: "Hold on, Brother Feng. They pose no danger to us." Calm as still water, those words carried weight that baffled Feng Zhongxin. He shot Zhao Hai a puzzled glance, utterly lost on his companion's reasoning.

Zhao Hai offered no explanation, merely tilting his head toward the oncoming foes. Feng Zhongxin followed his gaze, and astonishment seized him. His features drained of color in an instant. The attackers' faces had blackened utterly—not from rage, but a deep, unnatural hue that chilled the air. Their skin gleamed with eerie darkness, terrifying to behold. As a seasoned rogue cultivator, Feng Zhongxin instantly recognized the signs of deadly poisoning.

The assailants charged on, oblivious to their doom. But mere three meters from reach, their eyes bulged wide, and black blood erupted from their mouths. Bodies crumpling forward, they collapsed lifeless to the earth.

Gazing at the eight sprawled corpses, a icy shiver crawled up Feng Zhongxin's spine and exploded in his mind. His scalp prickled with dread. Zhao Hai had once mentioned his prowess with poisons, yet Feng Zhongxin dismissed it as mild skill in toxin arts. Today's display shattered that illusion entirely.

These thugs likely fell victim mid-conversation, not in open fight. Somehow, Zhao Hai had slipped the poison during their exchange, unnoticed by all—including Feng Zhongxin himself. The victims remained clueless until death's grip tightened. Such silent lethality sent terror through his veins.

Feng Zhongxin gaped at the bodies, words failing him. Zhao Hai approached the fallen, rifling through their possessions before rejoining his side. Snapping from his trance, Feng Zhongxin fixed a dazed stare on Zhao Hai, emotions flickering across his face. Finally, he exhaled deeply and muttered, "Impressive, Brother Zhao. Your poison mastery is no joke."

"Nothing special. Let's head back, Brother Feng," Zhao Hai replied with a grin. He kept his secrets close, of course. Deploying poison this time served a purpose: to showcase his might to Feng Zhongxin. Sensing the man's hidden motives, Zhao Hai aimed this display as a stark warning. Should Feng Zhongxin wise up and abandon his schemes, peace could hold. Otherwise, consequences awaited.

Zhao Hai remained unaware of the deeper plot drawing Feng Zhongxin and his allies here. Had he known their hunt targeted the Ghostwind Bandits' treasure, slaughter would have followed without mercy. Though the treasure's location eluded him, he grasped one truth: treasure seekers like these spared no rivals. A millennium-long pursuit had twisted into unbreakable obsession.

Feng Zhongxin eyed Zhao Hai warily, anxiety gnawing at him. With such flawless poison expertise, clashing outright spelled disaster. He recoiled from the thought. Was tangling with this foe truly worth the risk? Treasure tempted, but survival trumped all.

Though turmoil churned within, Feng Zhongxin masked it well. He nodded to Zhao Hai and replied, "Right, let's return. This spot's turned cursed; no lingering here." Together, they soared toward the blood sea's surface, vanishing in moments. The corpses? Ignored entirely—no notion of burial crossed their minds.

Soon after their departure, shadows emerged before the bodies. Gasps escaped as they surveyed the scene, faces twisting in grim disgust. Poison's handiwork stared back plainly, fueling their dark moods.

One voice broke the silence: "A true poison master, no doubt. But how did he strike? We watched from afar and caught nothing. Back we go—grill Feng Zhongxin on it. Brother Wen needs word of this at once. Move." Nods rippled through, and they ascended swiftly. Even Wang Liang held his tongue; hot-tempered or not, folly had no place here. As a body cultivator, poison terrified him too—crossing such foes promised peril.

In a fog of unease, Feng Zhongxin guided Zhao Hai back to Blood Lake Island. He suggested rest, citing the day's toll. Twilight had fallen; sales could wait till dawn. Zhao Hai agreed without fuss, retreating to his quarters.

Feng Zhongxin hastened to his inn, beelining for Wen Liren's door. A knock drew the response: "Zhongxin, you're back. Enter." He pushed inside, halting in shock—most of their crew filled the space.

Feng Zhongxin bowed hastily, then took a seat at Wen Liren's gesture. Wen Liren fixed him with a steady look: "Zhongxin, spill it. What happened after you left with Zhao Hai today? Gauge his power yet? That poison talent especially?"

A wry nod escaped Feng Zhongxin as he rumbled low, "Blood jade flowers fetched high prices in the market, so I figured guiding him to harvest some would build rapport. Things flowed smooth at first; we gathered heaps. But crowds swelled, stripping the blooms fast. As we turned to go, blockers appeared. I held back from involving Zhao Hai, aiming just to bond, not probe him yet. Suspicion could've soured it, and chances abound later. So I flashed my sword cultivator badge, hoping to cow them off. Didn't expect their boldness—they lunged anyway. That's when Zhao Hai struck. No clue on the timing or toxin type. Right as they closed in, poison felled them dead."

Wen Liren blinked in surprise at the tale, then probed, "So you're saying you missed his method entirely? No sign of when or how? He just... stood there? Not some poison art?"

Feng Zhongxin managed a grim chuckle: "No arts in sight, and I swear I saw zilch. Timing? A mystery. We bantered with them, they drew blades for the assault—yet ten feet out, they dropped, blackening and vomiting blood. Poison's nature? Beyond me. It all blurred in a flash."

Recounting it chilled Feng Zhongxin anew. The room echoed that dread—disbelief and alarm thick in his tone. Wang Liang and the corpse-viewers shivered inwardly too.

Wen Liren's features hardened. After a pause, he scowled: "Looks like Zhao Hai spoke true. Poison wizardry like that complicates everything. Ideas, everyone? How do we counter him?" The puzzle gnawed at Wen Liren; an unseen poisoner defied easy handling. One slip, and death claimed them.

Silence gripped Feng Zhongxin and the rest. Truth be told, this foe's tactics baffled them utterly. Unknown strikes left no defense to weave. Guarding against shadows? A death wish, plain.

Wen Liren pressed on gravely: "Whatever it takes, here's the plan. Zhongxin, keep cozying up—slip him wine, or whatever works. Anyone know how to toxin a poison expert? Drug him if poison fails. Dig up antidote leads too. We end this quick. With our numbers, Zhao Hai won't stand!"