Starting to Gain Experience from Push-Ups Chapter 1252 - 607: Blood Sacrifice

Blood still trickled relentlessly through his fingers, drenching the decaying leaves below, despite his desperate attempt to staunch the flow by pressing his palm firmly against the wound.

It was evident that they had just narrowly survived a brutal, life-threatening confrontation.

Facing them were five individuals, their expressions radiating an extreme sense of arrogance.

These five had strategically positioned themselves, subtly forming a semi-circle that effectively blocked any escape route for the crew-cut guy and his companions.

Each of them clutched bayonets slick with blood, dark crimson droplets tracing slow paths down the grooved blades.

Cruel, mocking smiles played on the lips of the five, their eyes appraising their trapped victims with the detached gaze of predators sizing up hapless prey.

The leader, a lanky figure standing centrally, nonchalantly twirled a knife, flicking away remnants of flesh that clung to the steel.

The crew-cut guy, his gaze fixed on the leader opposite, wiped a smear of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. A murderous glint flickered in his eyes as he tightened his jaw, shouting:

"We’re all examinees for the Special Search Team. We have no prior conflicts nor any recent disputes—why are you ruthlessly trying to kill us?"

The lanky leader responded with a sneer, ceasing his idle play with the dagger. He looked at the crew-cut guy as if he were utterly foolish:

"Who says a grudge is necessary to take a life?"

He advanced, covering half a meter, his combat boots crushing brittle twigs underfoot with an audibly sharp crunch.

"Blame your unfortunate timing. You just happened to cross paths with our operation to clear the perimeter and gather offerings."

"To ensure absolute secrecy, I’m afraid we must inconvenience you gentlemen by ensuring your silence permanently."

As he uttered these words, he licked his lips, a subtle yet unsettling flicker of pathological excitement appearing in his eyes.

It was as though the act of killing was merely an amusing game to him.

"Clear the perimeter, gather offerings?"

The crew-cut guy’s brow furrowed deeply. He winced, clutching the injury in his ribs, the sharp pain forcing an involuntary intake of breath.

Gritting his teeth against the agony, he raised his dagger defensively across his chest:

"What exactly are you trying to achieve? This is the West Mountain Military Restricted Area. Are you not concerned that the official Special Search Team will investigate any killing spree here and bring you all before a military court?"

"A court? Someone would have to survive to testify first."

The lanky man’s grin widened, becoming increasingly unhinged, his eyes gleaming with a fanatic and avaricious light:

"More importantly, what we are seeking is far more significant—it’s the entrance to the ruins of an ancient civilization."

The entrance to the ruins of an ancient civilization?

Upon hearing this, the crew-cut guy and his two companions exchanged stunned glances.

This was a classified term they appeared to have never encountered before.

The lanky leader registered their bewildered expressions perfectly but offered no explanation, a cold, sharp arc forming at the corner of his mouth:

"Coincidentally, the magnetic field in this vicinity is in disarray, exhibiting heightened fluctuations. We require concentrated Life Energy as a catalyst."

With that, he pointed his bayonet through the air towards the three of them, his voice chillingly devoid of warmth:

"Since you’ve so kindly presented yourselves at our doorstep as potential material for a blood sacrifice, it would be impolite of us to refuse."

"To hell with your blood sacrifice! If you intend to use our lives as stepping stones, you better be sure you have the strength to back it up!"

The companion positioned to the crew-cut guy’s left bellowed, his curse punctuated by a fierce grip on his dagger as he adopted a desperate, do-or-die stance.

The other companion spat a glob of bloody saliva onto the ground, directing a venomous glare at their assailants:

"Worst case, we take one of you down with us. Who’s afraid of whom?"

Hearing these defiant words, the lanky leader’s group not only displayed no apprehension but erupted in boisterous laughter.

They proceeded to flex their fists and rub their palms together, preparing to advance and finish off their cornered prey.

The tension between the two factions escalated instantaneously; a new wave of brutal combat was on the precipice of erupting.

This imminent battle held the potential to decisively determine the victor, and it was certain that someone would meet their end here.

Dozens of meters away from the open area, concealed behind a thicket of dense shrubbery, a hand silently parted the thorny branches.

Fang Cheng maintained a low profile, crouched close to the ground. He raised his left hand, signaling for silence to Ma Donghe and Hou Peng, who were positioned behind him.

The two acknowledged his signal with subtle nods, deliberately modulating the rhythm of their breathing to a slower cadence.

Peering through the sparse foliage and the somewhat thin veil of mist, Fang Cheng surveyed the scene unfolding in the clearing.

His gaze lingered momentarily on the face of the injured, crew-cut examinee.

He recognized this man's face.

It was the police academy student with whom he had exchanged a brief glance a few days prior, while they were collecting their examination permits at the service hall.

Fang Cheng had absolutely no recollection of the five arrogant examinees confronting them, as they were all unfamiliar faces.

However, from their recent conversation and a recollection of the corpse dangling beneath that tree, adorned with a copper bell, a victim of the Triangular Spike's brutal attack...

It became evident that the deceased was one of the "offerings" these individuals were discussing.

"Ancient civilization ruin..."

Upon uttering those words again, Fang Cheng's pupils constricted with intensity.

A multitude of disjointed clues within his mind rapidly coalesced, forming a coherent chain of deduction.

These individuals not only possessed a clearly defined objective, but they were also aware that West Mountain harbored secrets related to an ancient civilization's ruins.

It was obvious that participating in the exam was merely a facade; their true aim was the hidden secret residing here.

This was decidedly not information accessible to a common social candidate.

The critical aspect was the Special Search Team's interview process, known for its extreme rigor, and the chief examiner's exceptional skill in Spirit pressure and psychological assessment.

How did these five Assassins, their hands stained with blood and their hearts filled with malevolence, manage to navigate background checks and psychological evaluations so seamlessly, integrating themselves into the candidate pool?

It strongly suggested that someone high within the Special Search Team was either providing them cover or was, in fact, the true mastermind behind their operation from the very inception.

A glint of cold light flashed in Fang Cheng's eyes.

The waters within the Special Search Team were far deeper and more treacherous than he had initially perceived.

"Damn it, these bastards hit like trucks. Way rougher than when I was fighting for territory in the gang."

Ma Donghe, crouched low behind Fang Cheng, his broad shoulders drawn up tightly, was speaking.

He rested the heavy leg of the mutated boar across his knees, lowered his voice, and grumbled in a tone audible only to their small group.

Hou Peng, his ears flaring like sails, scanned their surroundings with a sharp gaze and added,

"This is an organized, pre-meditated strike force, deliberately choosing locations like this. Brother Fang, it's best if we don't get involved in this mess. Let's just quietly skirt around the perimeter."

"Hold on. Let's observe carefully first."

Fang Cheng responded in a level tone, his gaze remaining fixed on the group in the center of the clearing.

While Ma Donghe and Hou Peng were clearly oblivious to the significance of "ancient civilization ruins," he himself understood it perfectly.

Previously, the Masked Guest had alluded to related clues, but unfortunately, that individual had been obliterated in a fierce confrontation with the military, reduced to mere dust.

As for Shanks, a recent recruit to Bloodthorn, there was no possibility he possessed knowledge of the precise location of the ruins' entrance or the method to gain entry.

Now that they had stumbled upon this chance encounter, how could he possibly depart empty-handed?

Whoosh—

A gust of frigid wind, carrying the stench of thick blood, swept in from the forest's depths, setting the fallen leaves scattered across the ground into a chaotic whirl.

Concealed by this wind, a peculiar figure emerged from the blind spot of everyone's vision, moving like a phantom.

The individual donned the same camouflage uniform, gripping a still-dripping Triangular Spike in a reverse hold, and silently approached the side of the tall, gaunt leader.

"Sector One has been secured. The offerings will remain in place for the time being."

His voice was hoarse, akin to the grating sound of wood being sawn.

The tall, skinny man nodded with evident satisfaction, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

However, Fang Cheng, concealed behind the dense foliage, suddenly narrowed his eyes.

With his exceptional vision, enhanced by the True Sun Fire, he distinctly observed that the Assassin who had just returned from their lethal mission was enveloped in faint, almost imperceptible tendrils of black Qi.

This black Qi was unmistakably distinct from the surrounding mist; it possessed an unnatural vitality, resembling a swarm of minuscule leeches.

It crawled along the man's neck, ceaselessly burrowing inward and writhing, exuding a nauseating, sinister chill.

Immediately thereafter, a few exceedingly soft snaps of breaking twigs echoed through the air.

Three more figures, radiating palpable murderous intent, materialized one after another from the dense fog in various directions, converging beside the tall, skinny leader.

Their blades were likewise slick with fresh blood, indicating they had all successfully completed their grim tasks in their respective sectors.

Fang Cheng meticulously observed these three latecomers; there were no traces of the peculiar, writhing black Qi evident on them.

"Excellent."

The tall, skinny leader's smile broadened considerably. He raised his hand, pointing the blood-stained tip of his blade towards the buzz-cut man and the other two:

"Slay these final three, accumulating the nine pieces of Blood Sacrifice material, and we can then proceed to activate the Tracking Array."

Upon hearing this command, every muscle in the buzz-cut man and the other two police academy students instantly stiffened.