Chapter 75: Severed Head

A horde of pirates landed ashore, howling with excitement like sharks drawn to the scent of blood, surging toward all directions.
They were here to pillage, to murder and burn.
“Charge! The silver and women are waiting for you. Take what you want, kill as much as you like!”
The one-eyed deputy chief stood beside Old Xu’s corpse, his blood-soaked broadsword in hand, laughing wildly.
Thanks to Fang Yue’s arrangements, fishing boats had been patrolling the sea as an alarm system; when the pirates' ship approached, the fishermen hurried back to alert everyone.
Yet the time was too short—there was no chance to evacuate, and much of the town remained unaware of what was happening.
Tragedy, inevitably, unfolded.
Lu Qi, the pirates’ chief, gazed at the bodies lying in pools of blood along the shore, listening to the dying screams with intoxicated delight: “The scent of blood—it brings back memories.”
He held a dark brown earthen jar in his hands, which trembled as if thrilled.
“Third Chief, take a group from another direction and slaughter your way up.”
“Yes, Chief,” the third chief replied, fear in his voice; standing near Lu Qi, he felt an eerie chill.
The third chief led his men into the fray. Lu Qi, cradling his jar, also came ashore.
Whenever he found a corpse along the way, he would seize it, rip it apart with his bare hands, and stuff the pieces into the jar.
His strength was monstrous; he could tear a body open with brute force, blood splashing all over him until he looked like a man made of blood.
Even those not quite dead, still breathing, he tore apart just the same.
The little jar seemed bottomless—no matter how much he stuffed in, it never filled.
Yet Lu Qi did not continuously feed it, but paused from time to time, as if waiting for it to digest.
As the jar consumed more flesh and blood, a dark mist began to rise from its mouth, growing thicker by the moment.
He looked so bizarre that even his own pirates avoided him.
The pirates rampaged in all directions; Fishhead Town had no stationed troops, and could not withstand their assault.
Every resident was fleeing for their lives.
Those who tried to resist, wielding hoes and fish forks at their doors, were slain as the pirates broke in, hacked in half.
Families hiding inside were slaughtered. Wives and daughters were violated and then killed.
These pirates came not only for wealth, but for blood.
Those who could run were young and strong. The old, weak, women, and children lagged behind, their fate sealed.
The pirates tirelessly cut down one after another.
The world seemed transformed into a hell of carnage.
A small boy of four or five was carried by his grandmother, fleeing in panic.
But the old woman lost her way and stumbled right into three pirates. She was cut down with a single stroke.

The boy fell to the ground, wailing in terror.
The pirate who killed the old woman grinned cruelly. “Little brat, I’ll send you to join her.”
He raised his blade, but before he could move, the sound of a blade piercing flesh rang out.
His motion froze; his sword dropped, and he fell heavily to the ground.
The other two pirates, startled, swung their blades at the newcomer.
The newcomer swept his sword, sending them flying, dead in a single strike.
Fang Yue looked at the old woman, not yet dead, feeling a surge of blood rush to his head.
He had hurried here, but could not prevent the massacre. The old woman was beyond saving, and Fang Yue had no time for her, for he had a greater task.
The pirates were still murdering and burning—he had to stop them.
Ren Junlin, Deng Dahai, and Fang Baoliang were already organizing people for resistance.
But that would take time; Fishhead Town had no standing troops, only scattered militia, hardly a force.
Fang Yue came alone from Fangqiao Village, trying to hold back the pirates, to lessen the slaughter, and buy time for Ren Junlin and the others.
He had wanted to invite Yuan Zhixing, but that arrogant young hero had shrunk back, and Fang Yue could not waste time, so he rushed alone, blade in hand.
A journey that should have taken an hour, he forced himself to cover in less than half that.
Yet he was still late; the killing had begun, countless innocent civilians butchered by pirate blades.
Fang Yue picked up the boy, placed him behind a large tree, and whispered, “Hide here. Don’t run.”
Without pausing, he charged toward the pirates, blade raised.
Though the pirates were numerous, they were scattered in their excitement.
Groups of three or four were no match for Fang Yue.
He fought his way through, dozens of pirates falling beneath his blade, blood soaking through his clothes, saving many lives.
The pirates finally sensed something was amiss—someone dared to stand against them alone.
The one-eyed deputy chief rallied a group to corner Fang Yue.
“Fool! You dare oppose us and kill so many of my men! Brothers, chop him into mincemeat!”
His face was fierce; now, soaked in blood, he looked like a demon from hell.
The pirates howled, unleashing their inner darkness in a ruthless slaughter.
At this moment, they were all demons.
Fang Yue dared to hinder their rampage; unless they hacked him into mincemeat, their rage would not subside.
Dozens of pirate fiends, led by the one-eyed deputy chief, charged at Fang Yue with wild cries.
Fang Yue, exhausted from his rush and fighting, was drained.

Yet his eyes remained bright, his heart ablaze with boundless fury.
The carnage before him, hell on earth, fueled his rage—he wished he could kill every pirate.
Facing dozens of pirates, Fang Yue advanced rather than retreat.
With a clang and a shower of sparks, the deputy chief, skilled as he was, barely parried Fang Yue’s strike.
But terror filled his heart, his rage turned to cold sweat. Though he blocked the blow, his limbs went numb, and he staggered back two steps, barely gripping his sword.
Fang Yue could not press the attack and finish him off, for other pirate blades had already swung at him.
He swept his sword, sending several pirates flying, blood spraying.
Surging forward again, he struck at the deputy chief.
This fierce one-eyed giant was clearly the leader; to defeat the thieves, one must take down the chief.
Another clash—once more, the deputy chief managed to block, but staggered back three steps.
Fang Yue swept his sword again, killing several more pirates.
But now, surrounded, he took two wounds, and though his skill shielded him, he could not entirely escape harm.
Blood poured from the gash on his back.
Fang Yue seemed oblivious to pain; he spun and swept his heavy sword.
His blade weighed over eighty pounds—any pirate struck was dead on the spot.
Even those who tried to block could not withstand the force.
Again, several pirates fell, bloodied corpses.
In this brief time, over forty pirates had charged him; already a dozen lay dead.
The remaining twenty or so were shaken, and Fang Yue quickly killed several more.
He surged forward, facing the deputy chief, and struck.
The deputy chief hurried to block.
Without other pirates interfering, Fang Yue attacked—one blow, then another.
At the third strike, the deputy chief’s sword, unable to withstand the eighty-pound blade, snapped in two.
In his terror-stricken gaze, Fang Yue stepped forward and swung, beheading him on the spot.