In the world of martial arts, the one who survives is not necessarily the one with superior martial arts.
An Ziyang understood this truth long ago.
Thirteen years ago, An Ziyang killed for the first time, and the person he killed was a second-rate master.
He was only thirteen at the time.
Now, An Ziyang is twenty-six years old, and despite consuming countless rare natural treasures that ordinary martial artists wouldn't even dare to dream of, he has only reached a second-rate level.
His talent truly isn't that great.
However, if he is prepared, killing two or three first-rate masters is not a problem for him.
It's just that his methods, after all, have their limits.
Firearms had already appeared in rudimentary form as early as the Southern Song Dynasty.
By now, they are no longer a rare sight; the Three-Eyed Blunderbuss has long been equipped in the army, and the Repeating Blunderbuss, which emerged in recent years, can fire more than a dozen projectiles consecutively.
An Ziyang's "An's Swordplay," apart from its unexpectedness, relies more on the flash and roar of the gunpowder explosion; in terms of pure power, it is actually inferior to concealed weapons.
The Ming Cult master's pupils constricted.
He had seen fire blunderbusses and bird blunderbusses, and instantly reacted.
In a flash of lightning, he only managed to slightly turn his head.
This saved his life.
He only felt the projectile pass through his neck, first a chill, then a burning sensation.
He abruptly raised his hand to cover his neck, pressing it several times, but blood still flowed continuously.
This shot pierced his neck, severing a blood vessel.
But he avoided the windpipe and artery.
He wouldn't die immediately.
Then An Ziyang would be the one to die.
He suddenly looked up at An Ziyang, his gaze filled with icy killing intent, making An Ziyang shiver.
When it came to deception, An Ziyang was his ancestor.
But when it came to killing, An Ziyang wasn't even fit to carry his shoes.
Here it comes.
He covered his wound with his left hand, roughly stemming the blood.
With his right hand, he raised his sword and delivered a diagonal slash, enveloping An Ziyang.
"Too many people..." An Ziyang sighed.
For him, a second-rate martial artist, to be able to eliminate so many Ming Cult masters was already astonishing.
But his methods were almost exhausted.
An Ziyang horizontally blocked with his sword, and the two swords clashed.
Clang!
The Ming Cult master sneered, drawing a circle with his longsword, then suddenly exerted force.
Clang!
With a clang of the sword, An Ziyang's longsword was knocked flying and embedded itself in the wall with a whoosh.
An Ziyang, cornered against the wall and disarmed, had no way to retreat or defend.
"It's time to gamble my life!"
An Ziyang suddenly raised his hand, fingers together, and flicked his wrist.
Clang!
Several sleeve arrows shot out from his cuff, heading towards the Ming Cult master's face.
This wasn't over yet; An Ziyang reached behind him with his right hand, pulled out a wire, then quickly lowered his head and bent down.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Several back arrows shot out simultaneously from his collar, arriving later but reaching first, instantly appearing before the Ming Cult master's chest.
"Hmph!"
The Ming Cult master, however, let out a cold snort, raising his sword and performing "Night Battle in Eight Directions," dancing it into a blur around him.
Clink! Clink! Clink! Clink!
Sparks flew, and the concealed weapons were all swept to the ground.
There's more! An Ziyang clicked his heels together, then stomped hard on the ground!
Several darts shot out from between his legs, coming from below upwards towards the Ming Cult master's lower body.
"Tsk!"
The Ming Cult master's brows were now furrowed into a knot: "Is this brat ever going to stop?! Where on his body doesn't he have concealed weapons?!"
Normally, these unchanging mechanical concealed weapons wouldn't bother him; he would just use a movement technique to dodge them.
But now, firstly, given An Ziyang's character, these concealed weapons were definitely poisoned with hundreds of taels of silver; if even one slipped through and grazed him, he would likely be finished.
Secondly, he dared not leave An Ziyang's side.
If he didn't press close step by step, but instead dodged and created distance, who knew if An Ziyang would pull out another bag of Tang Sect poison and throw it on the ground.
However, this was the last one.
He blocked while approaching An Ziyang, and was about to reach within three feet.
At this distance, no matter how An Ziyang struggled, he couldn't escape death!
An Ziyang kept retreating, pressing tightly against the wall.
His face was pale, constantly activating the mechanisms on his body, but unable to stop him from getting closer and closer.
Now!
He thrust his sword straight, aiming for An Ziyang's face!
"Die!"
An Ziyang seemed to grit his teeth, suddenly ducking and rushing towards him!
His sword was angled upwards, and An Ziyang's crouch avoided the blade.
The Shen Thief Sect's exquisite lightness skill allowed An Ziyang to nearly close in on him in an instant.
At this position, it was difficult for him to use his sword.
However, if An Ziyang thought he could only use a sword, he was too naive!
Dying struggle! It was just as he wished!
He suddenly let go, his longsword falling, then pulled his right hand back, perfectly gripping An Ziyang's shoulder!
Rip!—
A sound of tearing cloth rang out, and blood splattered!
He tore off the flesh and blood from An Ziyang's shoulder, revealing the stark white bone beneath!
"Ugh!"
An Ziyang grunted, raising his hand and pulling a soft sword from his waistband, thrusting it at him.
"Ridiculous!"
A look of disdain appeared on his face, his right hand fluttering in the air, then settling after a dazzling display, already pinching An Ziyang's pulse point.
Clang!—
The soft sword fell to the ground.
Crack!
An Ziyang's right arm bent, already twisted into a bloody mess.
"Come here!"
He roared, pulling hard, and spun An Ziyang around in place, turning his back to him.
Then, with another pull, he dragged An Ziyang into his embrace, his right arm going upwards, clamping An Ziyang's neck.
The outcome was decided.
He could kill An Ziyang whenever he wanted.
Normally, he wouldn't hesitate for a moment.
But after all this struggle, with his fellow disciples dead, himself injured, and being held up for so long, coupled with An Ziyang's arrogant attitude...
He just wanted to say one thing before An Ziyang died.
Just one sentence, taking only one or two breaths.
"You—"
"Shoot him in the head!"
He had just uttered one word, but An Ziyang in his embrace suddenly turned his head and shouted out loud.
Bang!!!
A tremendous roar suddenly erupted from behind the two, almost overlapping with their voices.
Splash!—
Red and white matter splattered.
A body softly fell.
An Ziyang also softly fell to the ground, kneeling, his right arm crippled, only his left arm propping him up, panting heavily.
Then he heard someone anxiously say, "Son!"
"Are you alright?!"
An Ziyang swallowed, speaking hoarsely.
"I'm fine! Just got bitten a few times by a dog."
An Wenjie quickly walked over, casually throwing a flintlock pistol to the ground, then embraced An Ziyang, tears in his eyes.
The father and son were of one mind; as soon as An Ziyang entered the secret room, they exchanged glances.
An Ziyang instantly understood that An Wenjie was feigning unconsciousness and still had the strength to act.
After An Ziyang first released the poisonous mist, the first thing he did was run to An Wenjie's cage and throw in a short dagger and this flintlock pistol.
And An Wenjie was also able to endure, watching An Ziyang get injured repeatedly, truly managing to hold out until the last moment, only acting when the Ming Cult master had nowhere to dodge.
An Wenjie had also endured many days of torture; in a moment of urgency, he had rushed over and was also starting to lose his strength, so he suddenly sat down on the ground, then simply lay down.
An Ziyang likewise lay back, and the two father and son lay crookedly among a pile of corpses, staring at the ceiling of the secret room.
"Heh, what kind of Ming Cult is this?! In front of us father and son, they still have to die!"
An Wenjie said.
"It's just a shame about all my good stuff, years of family savings, all gone in an instant."
An Ziyang said.
"As long as we're alive, that's good.
With us father and son, we can earn everything back."
"Yes, as long as we're alive, that's good."
"Ha, haha, hahahahaha!"
"Hahahaha!"
The two of them started laughing, their laughter both unpleasant and wild, until tears streamed from their eyes.
When Li Miao entered the secret room, what he saw was the scene of these two fools lying in the middle of a pile of corpses, laughing foolishly.