Chapter Nine: Prison Break

As soon as Ye Zhong escaped from the dungeon, he shouted loudly, “Help! Help! Bandits are attacking the prison! The prisoners are about to escape!”

The people around were shocked and horrified, but it was already too late to stop him.

Murong Yan, furious, complained, “You father and son are so indecisive—how can you ever accomplish anything great?!”

At the same time, she hastily raised her sword and commanded, “Go!”

The longsword soared into the air, streaking out of the dungeon like a bolt of lightning.

A bloodcurdling scream pierced the chaos.

Ye Zhong’s cries abruptly ceased.

But his warning had already roused the patrolling guards throughout the residence, and chaos erupted in an instant.

The clamor of gongs, shouts, and pounding footsteps rose and fell, boiling over like a cauldron at full heat.

“Hurry! Follow me!” Murong Yan had already summoned back her sword. Without glancing back, she called out and pressed forward, leading the charge out of the dungeon.

“Father, uncle, aunt, let’s follow Miss Murong and fight our way out!” Ye Feng, seeing Murong Yan break out ahead, hastily urged his family onward.

So, under Murong Yan’s leadership, the group fought their way out of the dungeon.

Outside, they were met with a blaze of torches; countless guards had surrounded them, sealing off every escape.

Murong Yan remained unruffled. She glanced at Ye Zhong’s corpse, lying cold and riddled with sword wounds, nudged him with her foot, and spat, “Traitor—you deserved far worse than death!”

The guards, seeing Murong Yan’s ruthless display, did not dare approach.

“Feng’er, you must go now! I’m too old; I can’t get out. Take the servants and guards—if even one escapes, it’s a victory. If you can, take your cousins as well. We elders have lived long enough—why should we fear death now?!”

“Father, how can that be?! How could I abandon you all and survive alone?!”

At this perilous moment, Ye Xiaotian, fearing he would become a burden, tried to persuade them to leave him behind.

Ye Feng, however, grew anxious and began to argue with his father.

But there was no time for disputes; the guards, seeing that the group was a mix of old and young, judged them easy prey and grew bolder. With a shout, “Don’t let them escape! Seize them!” they surged forward, weapons drawn.

Murong Yan shouted back, “Anyone who stands in my way dies!”

She swept forward, sword flashing.

Her sword whirled, casting green shadows; only sword-light could be seen, her figure lost in its brilliance.

Death awaited any who drew near, and soon she carved a bloody path through the encirclement.

“Follow me!” Ye Feng heard her cry and instantly understood. He echoed, “Follow Miss Murong and fight your way out!” He quickly ordered the servants and guards to shield the family and stick close.

But they had not gone far before more guards rushed in from behind. Though Murong Yan’s ferocity kept the enemies in front at bay, there was no one as capable watching their rear; the household guards were no match for their foes.

Moreover, the attackers knew the estate well, using the terrain to their advantage, which made their assault all the more devastating.

The pavilions, lotus pond, and rock gardens became both battleground and trap.

The family’s defenders could barely wound the enemy, while the guards’ every blow landed true. Ye Feng’s group was forced into a defensive retreat.

Before long, several household guards had fallen in pools of blood.

Seeing his family in dire peril, Ye Feng took up the rear, wielding his broadsword with all his might to protect them, retreating step by step while fending off attacks and shepherding his family onward.

But the enemy’s numbers were overwhelming, and even the bravest could not withstand so many. Cunning and relentless, the guards used every advantage to separate Ye Feng’s group from Murong Yan.

In a flash, Ye Feng and his family were surrounded, unable to move an inch.

Their resistance faltered, and more servants fell.

Now, the guards, weapons raised, focused their assault on Ye Feng alone, overwhelming him. Desperately, Ye Feng drew upon his mental strength, fighting with everything he had.

But his study of the Demon-Slaying Art was still shallow; his mind power not yet deep, and though he moved swiftly, how could he keep pace with so many blades and spears?

Soon enough—

A sickening crunch.

A cry of pain.

A spear stabbed into Ye Feng’s shoulder, blood gushing out.

The sight of blood only excited the guards further, and they pounced like wild beasts. More blades and spears thrust at him.

Weakened and wounded, Ye Feng could barely hold them off. In moments, he would be cut to pieces.

Suddenly, a streak of green light flashed past.

It was Murong Yan’s flying sword.

A series of screams rang out, and several guards fell instantly.

The survivors recoiled in terror.

Ye Feng clung to life by a thread.

“Fall back! Defend yourselves against the wall!” he heard someone shout.

Ye Feng hurried to shield his family and pressed them back against the wall.

Murong Yan fought her way back, cutting down two guards barehanded, then retreated to the wall, standing protectively before Ye Feng and his kin.

“Miss Murong, go! Leave us—your kindness is remembered. If you can get Feng’er out, our whole family will be forever grateful!” Ye Xiaotian, resolved to die, urged her to abandon them and escape alone.

“Enough! Take care of yourselves—for today, I swear I will get you all out of this prison!” Murong Yan snapped, summoning her sword and making a fierce display that kept the guards at bay.

“Father, we live or die together! How could I abandon you?!” Ye Feng’s eyes were bloodshot as he gripped his sword, ready to charge.

“Get back! Protect your family!” Murong Yan knew Ye Feng stood no chance against the crowd of guards and would only throw his life away; she pulled him back and shielded him with her own body.

Even so, Ye Feng, dragged back, eyes blazing, swung his blade wildly, cursing, “Come on, you wretches! Come at me—let’s see who dies today!”

Ye Xiaotian, seeing Murong Yan and Ye Feng in such peril, and unwilling to let them sacrifice themselves for him, was about to step forward and surrender when, glancing up, he suddenly noticed the full moon high in the sky. A thought struck him, and he asked, “Miss Murong, what day is it today?”

“Uncle, it’s the fifteenth—why?” Murong Yan replied, tense and focused on the enemy.

“Oh!” Ye Xiaotian’s face lit up with joy. “Feng’er, it’s the fifteenth—the perfect night to take the Immortal Herb of Strength and Renewal. Take it now, and you may gain a surge in power, enough to break through these ranks!”

With that, he handed the herb to Ye Feng.

Ye Feng opened the box, gazing at the luminous succulent within, and felt his hope surge.

“Very well, Father! Once I’ve taken it, we’ll break out together!”

He swallowed the herb, and soon a warm current surged through his body, radiating a rosy glow from within.

A series of crisp pops sounded from his bones as every muscle tensed and swelled, filling him with boundless strength.

Even the wound from the spear closed and healed in an instant.

Overjoyed, Ye Feng flourished his blade.

With a swoosh, he spun the sword in a dazzling arc—but before the move was done, there was a loud clang as the steel blade snapped in half!

A steel broadsword, broken by sheer force—what strength was this?

The guards stared in disbelief.

Finding the broken sword useless, Ye Feng tossed it aside, set his hands, and declared, “Miss Murong, let us fight our way out once more!”

He charged forward.

The guards rushed to intercept him, weapons raised.

But Ye Feng’s mind was razor-sharp, and his movements flashed like lightning, weaving through the enemy ranks as if no one were there.

Cries of pain erupted as, one after another, over a dozen men were struck down by his palms—some hurled away, others crumpling to the ground.

The remaining guards, too frightened to close in, jabbed at him only from a distance with their spears.

But Ye Feng’s speed was uncanny; dozens of spear thrusts missed him entirely.

Seeing his sudden ferocity, Murong Yan was delighted. “Now’s our chance—move, everyone!” She guarded Ye Feng’s family and hurried after him.

A bloody path was carved in moments.

Ye Feng, emboldened, fought ever more fiercely, his figure flickering, his palms striking left and right. The guards’ attempts to use the terrain now failed utterly. Whenever they emerged from hiding, Ye Feng was upon them, his palm strikes shattering stone and splitting boulders.

None could withstand such power.

With each blow, bodies flew before they could even scream; the rest cowered in terror, not daring to show themselves.

Yet even those who tried to hide found no refuge—Ye Feng’s hands snaked around corners like living serpents, reaching even where he could not, and his palm force alone could wound the enemy.

Soon, the guards lay dead or dying in heaps, the survivors too cowed to approach.

Ye Feng, exultant, realized that with the herb’s aid, his Demon-Slaying Art had broken through to the level of “Following Intention”—he had finally entered the true path. To think that this art, even at its threshold, wielded such power!

His confidence soared. “If you wish to live, get out of my way!” he roared.

Terrified, the guards fell back, and in the blink of an eye, another bloody path was cleared.

Within moments, they would burst out of the estate.

Suddenly, a furious shout rang out: “Boy! You dare cause trouble in the City Lord’s mansion? Are you courting death?!”

A giant, tower-like officer appeared, blocking his way, wielding twin hammers. With a roar, he brought them crashing down in the move called “Mount Tai Collapses.”

Ye Feng dodged nimbly, circling behind his opponent, and with both palms struck at his back—the move “Go With the Flow.”

But the officer was no ordinary man. Hearing the wind behind him, he took two quick steps forward, nearly dodging the blow.

Ye Feng cursed his luck—if only his arms were a bit longer!

But as the thought flashed, so did his hands—they suddenly stretched five inches longer!

Such uncanny movement left the officer no chance to evade.

Both palms landed squarely.

A gush of blood erupted from the man’s mouth, and his massive body was hurled through the air, crashing into and crushing four or five of his own men.

The rest of the guards shrank back in panic.

Ye Feng dashed forward, seized the fallen iron hammers, and gave them a test swing—they felt perfectly balanced in his hands.

With renewed vigor, he pressed on toward the main gate, his family close behind.

Murong Yan, guarding the rear, wielded her green sword with lethal precision, striking down any who dared approach. Despite their numbers, the guards could not break through to harm Ye Feng’s family.

In an instant, they reached the main gates.

Finding them barred, Ye Feng remained calm. He strode up to the doors, raised both hammers, and brought them down with all his might.

A thunderous crash resounded—the gates shattered to splinters, wood raining to the ground.

Ye Feng called out, “Father, Uncle, Aunt, Miss Murong—hurry! We’re out! Once we reach the open street, we’ll be safe!”

With that, he leaped through the gate.

But as soon as he stepped outside, the sight that greeted him left him utterly stunned.