Chapter 28: Brother, Don't Go!

If it had been anyone else, the sheer intensity of such devouring energy would have caused their body to burst on the spot, their meridians shattered, leading to immediate death.

But Duan Lingxiao was a hardened soul, tempered by the hands of the Seven Great Villains, a man who had crawled his way out of the slaughterhouses and mass graves of the battlefield. His will was iron, capable of crushing all obstacles. A man who could endure suspicion, doubt, resentment, jealousy, and hatred—what else could he not withstand?

The "God of War Art" was an incredibly domineering technique, righteous yet fierce, possessing an overwhelming aura. It was like a tyrannosaur soaring through the heavens and earth, charging recklessly, stirring up surges of blood and energy with every layer of power added.

At this moment, inside Duan Lingxiao, a turbulent ocean seemed to be rising. The spiritual energy within the Spirit Source Stone was exceptionally pure, and he was devouring it ravenously.

Before long.

"Break!"

Duan Lingxiao opened his eyes. A chilling, piercing light radiated from them, as if dragons and phoenixes were intertwining, revealing a primordial majesty. A terrifying pressure emanated from his body; his cultivation level had firmly settled at the middle stage of the Xiantian Realm!

The Spirit Source Stone in his hand had been reduced to a pile of dust.

"Boom!"

Within him, the energy surged like a wild wolf, unstoppable, as if it could shatter anything in its path!

"The Xiantian Realm is divided into early, middle, late, and great perfection stages. I never expected that just after leaving prison, I would encounter such pure Spirit Source Stones to aid my breakthrough."

"No wonder my teachers, the Seven Great Villains, said that the world of mortals is the best training ground. It is truly so!"

"Creak, creak..."

Duan Lingxiao casually clenched his fist, and immediately, an incredibly pure power began to spread. This casual squeeze exerted a force of over ten thousand jin! This level of strength was enough to chill the heart of any martial artist. Among the martial artists in Jiangnan City, the formidable General Fuhu, whose strength was at the peak of the Xuan Realm and nearing the Earth Realm, could only muster about fifteen hundred to two thousand jin of force at his absolute limit.

Duan Lingxiao’s casual squeeze was more than five or six times that of the general's full outburst! This was the might of a Spirit Cultivator, and the terror of the "God of War Art"—standard cultivation techniques could never achieve such an astonishing rate of progress.

"With such a pure Spirit Source Stone, an ordinary person would have no trouble crossing two minor stages, yet I only moved from the early to the middle stage of the Xiantian Realm."

"As my masters said, the reason the 'God of War Art' is so terrifying is that it forges a supreme foundation, allowing one to build an incredibly solid base at every single stage. For the future path of martial arts, a firm foundation is undoubtedly the prerequisite for going the distance."

Duan Lingxiao calmed his mind and stabilized his cultivation; it was already past midnight. As he rose, he suddenly heard muffled whimpers from the room next door. It was coming from Xiao Mengxue’s room.

Duan Lingxiao hurried to her door, which was left ajar. He pushed it open gently.

"So cold... so hungry... don't chase me... don't hit me..."

Xiao Mengxue murmured in her sleep, her words disjointed. Each one tightened Duan Lingxiao’s heart. By the moonlight filtering through the window, he could see her trembling beneath the covers. Those accustomed to a life of luxury could never understand such a sight.

The experiences of the past five years, the pain accumulated day after day, could not be easily erased in a day or two.

"Brother... I want to eat candied hawthorn..."

Xiao Mengxue continued to babble. Duan Lingxiao’s hands clenched slightly. He remembered the past, before every expedition with Xiao Longhu, when they would treat her to a grand meal. But what she loved most was that bright red, sweet string of candied hawthorn sold at the school gate.

"Brother Lingxiao, don't go... please stay with me always..."

Xiao Mengxue curled her body instinctively, wrapping her arms around herself as if she were holding her brother Lingxiao in her embrace. Even in her dreams, she feared loss. In her world, her parents were long dead, her brother had been murdered, and she had only her brother Lingxiao left! He was her only one, her everything! He was her life, her entire world!

"I won't go. I will always be with you."

Duan Lingxiao’s heart ached. He hurried to her side and gently tapped her. A soft flow of energy seeped into her body, and her tense frame softened, relaxing significantly. Watching her steady breathing, Duan Lingxiao could not help but smile.

"From now on, with me here, you will never have nightmares again. You will sleep soundly every night."

He was about to rise and leave when he realized his arm was tightly held by Xiao Mengxue. She had curled up against him like a little kitten.

"Brother Lingxiao, don't go... don't leave me, please..."

Seeing this, Duan Lingxiao stroked her hair tenderly and stayed by her side. The night passed in silence.

...

Late at night. In the provincial capital, at the Han residence.

Han Yuegang sat on the sofa, twirling two jade beads in his hand. The premium Pu'er tea served beside him had long since gone cold, yet he had not taken a single sip. He was waiting. Waiting for news.

The Assassin Hall was highly efficient. He had approached them that morning, settled the price, and they had dispatched an assassin—a top-tier operative, Number 13. They had told him to wait for news by the night's end.

"Father, rest assured. Sister's revenge will be avenged!"

"Assassin Number 13 has a success rate of over 95 percent. There is absolutely no way this little brat will escape this time!" said a man who bore a striking resemblance to Han Yuegang. This was Han Kun, his eldest son.

"I know, but for some reason, my right eyelid keeps twitching..." Han Yuegang frowned. "I hope it's just my own anxiety."

Just then, his phone vibrated. He quickly answered.

"Han Yuegang, the assassination of the target has failed!" The voice on the other end was deep and grave.

"What is the meaning of this?" Han Yuegang frowned, clearly displeased.

"Exactly what I said. Our assassins always send a message immediately after a mission is completed. Number 13 never sent one, and when I attempted to make contact, there was no response. Our assassins never voluntarily cut ties with headquarters. Every sign points to one conclusion: Number 13 has failed and is dead."

The voice on the other end now betrayed a hint of anger. It was not easy to cultivate a top-tier assassin; the training costs were at least ten million, not including the cost of weapons and equipment. Yet, they had died in such an unclear, inexplicable manner.

"How is that possible? He is just a little brat with no powerful backing. How could he possibly evade an assassination?" Han Yuegang asked in disbelief.

"Believe it or not, that is the fact. Furthermore, this failure is related to the incorrect information you provided. The target's strength is conservatively estimated to be at least the late stage of the Earth Realm, or perhaps even the peak. We cannot rule out the possibility of a Heaven Realm expert."

"If you wish to continue the mission, the bounty will be raised from thirty million to two hundred million!"

With that, the call was disconnected.

"Bang!"

Han Yuegang slammed the phone onto the floor, his face livid with rage.

"A suspected Heaven Realm expert?"

"Even if he is a Heaven Realm expert, he killed my son—he won't live! It seems I must go see the Marquis of the Southeast. I believe he has no desire for anyone connected to the Xiao family to remain alive, especially someone who is such a massive threat!"

Han Yuegang’s eyes shimmered with a dangerous light. He had investigated that little brat, only to find a complete void—no information, nothing. Such a person gave him an unsettling feeling of being elusive. It was a feeling he loathed.