Chapter Forty-Two: The God-Hunting Blade

In the late hours, the streets were nearly empty, and the convoy moved forward without hindrance. In the lead off-road vehicle, the driver was a bald man dressed in the uniform of the Outer City Patrol Bureau, eyes and mouth perpetually creased in a cheerful smile. To stay awake, he hummed aimlessly:

"This sudden snowfall, so heavy, so swift, drifting so pure..."

Beside him in the passenger seat was another man, clad in the Inner City Patrol Bureau uniform, eyes closed as if dozing, though the twitch at his lips betrayed that sleep eluded him.

Clearly, he was wide awake.

After a moment, he growled in irritation, "Qiao Mucao, shut up, will you? What are you singing? If you keep babbling, get out and run back on your own!"

"Alright!" The bald man, Qiao Mucao, responded instantly, still grinning. Yet not three seconds passed before he spoke again:

"We’re almost there, ah, nothing like going home! Good thing we brought the convoy back tonight—if we were still out in the wild, we'd be freezing. Thought I could handle the cold, so only wore one pair of pants, but now my legs are trembling on the accelerator. Wait, a man shouldn't say his legs are trembling, right, brother? Just thinking about it makes me happy—tonight I can sleep with my wife! Maybe heat up a little wine before bed, warm myself, then dive into the blankets while tipsy, so comfortable. You know, there's this shop near my house, their homemade..."

The passenger, face contorted in despair, turned away and plugged his ears with two fingers. He truly didn’t want to deal with him anymore—the chatterbox hadn’t stopped once all night. Sleep was impossible, and in his heart, he fervently hoped never to be assigned convoy duty with him again.

...

It was already deep into the night.

Ye Chen sat cross-legged on his bed, exhaling a plume of white breath. The beast-like markings faded from his face, leaving him somewhat dejected.

Ever since his inner essence had reached “57/58,” no matter how he practiced his breathing techniques, that final point refused to budge.

This troubled him deeply.

Is my strength destined to plateau here?

It shouldn’t be. His methods were correct, his rhythm flawless.

Even the task board in his consciousness space offered no hint.

He’d stood before it more than once, seeking answers, but it remained a dead thing, giving no response.

He was nearly driven mad…

Ye Chen opened his eyes and sighed helplessly.

As he brooded, the mysterious voice in his mind suddenly sounded:

[Consciousness space upgrade complete]

[Reward: “God-Hunter Blade”]

Hearing the notification, Ye Chen was instantly energized… It had finally arrived. After days of waiting, warmth at last.

Filled with anticipation, he hurried into his consciousness world.

The moment he crossed the threshold, he was astonished.

Where once only the task board stood, now a new arena had emerged.

It appeared to be a training ground.

At its edge stood a rack of weapons: wooden swords and clubs.

In the center, a humanoid wooden post.

Ye Chen was baffled… Was he meant to practice here? Practice what?

Just then, mist swirled in the arena, slowly coalescing into a human figure, face obscured.

Under Ye Chen’s puzzled gaze, the misty figure took a wooden sword from the rack and began demonstrating a sword technique for him.

The movements were fluid, sometimes swift, sometimes slow, mesmerizing Ye Chen.

As the mist-man prepared to deliver the final strike, Ye Chen noticed a distinct pause.

...

In that instant, an overwhelming aura enveloped the misty figure.

Like a tidal wave rising, like a volcano erupting, the space around him trembled violently.

Was this the gathering of power?

Next, the figure swung the sword!

All that imposing energy surged into the blade as it rose.

A resonant hum.

A massive, majestic blade force cleaved upward, slicing through the void, severing all.

For a moment, Ye Chen saw the space within the training ground shift, as if displaced.

So powerful!

He felt as though, though the mist figure was not corporeal, that strike had split the very realm he stood in.

After a long while, Ye Chen finally spoke, murmuring,

“So this is the 'God-Hunter Blade' I’m to inherit?”

The mist figure silently sheathed the sword, and the displaced void gradually smoothed.

Meanwhile, Ye Chen’s mind was filled with memories of the demonstrated sword technique.

He closed his eyes, motionless, slowly absorbing it...

Moments later, he sensed something strange in his hand.

He looked down in surprise… It was a broken blade. He could bring the broken blade into his consciousness world?!

He was initially puzzled—surely sword practice didn’t have to be confined to the training ground. Wasn’t it possible to train outside?

But he soon discovered the ground’s unique properties.

Here, Ye Chen needn't worry about the depletion of his inner essence.

Even if forming the blade drained all his inner essence, it would restore to “57/58” in less than a second.

And he would not suffer weakness or exhaustion.

Ye Chen couldn’t help but exclaim,

“This is truly the perfect training ground!

“But sword technique is sword technique—my essence is still stuck. That problem remains unsolved!”

...

At dawn, Ye Chen opened his door and swept the snow from his doorstep.

This was to make it easier for Ye Shanshan to push the cart out later.

But his mind was entirely on the sword technique he had just learned.

By “learned,” he meant he’d memorized the movements, not that he’d mastered them.

Especially the final strike—he simply couldn’t execute it.

What he managed was always an ordinary slash.

This headache troubled Ye Chen… Was it a lack of skill, or insufficient level?

Helpless, he could only bury his confusion.

Still, amid frustration, he felt a bit comforted… After years of wielding the hunter’s blade in wild, aimless hacking, at least now his technique was more refined than before.

No longer the crude “slash to kill, if not, get slashed” style of the wandering warrior.

Due to the snow and cold, the uniform alone was too thin.

Ye Chen donned a leather coat over it, cinched at the waist, accentuating his upright bearing.

The coat’s material was from prey Ye Chen himself had hunted and skinned years ago, sewn entirely by Ye Shanshan’s hands—a priceless garment.

Its surface bore the scars of years, evidence of many winters spent hunting alongside Ye Chen in the wild.

As Ye Chen walked, he snapped off a long icicle to wield as a blade, practicing his sword moves, reviewing the technique.

A neighbor familiar with him muttered,

“That foolish boy must be missing his blade after days without practice!”

...

Arriving at the Patrol Bureau, Ye Chen followed the tempting scent from the rear courtyard straight to the dining hall.

This was one of his greatest motivations for rising early—frugality being a virtue.

Such cheap and hearty breakfasts, to Ye Chen, felt no different from a free meal.

As he stepped into the hall, Captain Dai in the staff dining area nodded from afar in greeting.

“Captain Dai’s skill is truly useful—activating so early.” Ye Chen waved back.

Xu Fan had once joked, “When the captain doesn’t wear glasses, he’s icy cool.”

Ye Chen had been puzzled, “Why?”

“Because even if you stand right in front of him, he doesn’t know who you are!”

Ye Chen: “...”

Soon after, Ye Chen saw a bald head carrying a tray to sit across from Captain Dai.

No sooner had he sat than he launched into a torrent of chatter.

The man’s saliva flew, landing in Captain Dai’s bowl at best, nearly feeding him breakfast scraps at worst.

Captain Dai wore a helpless, embarrassed smile.

Moments later, he beckoned Ye Chen over.

“Bring your food here!”

“Captain, is that alright?” Ye Chen looked surprised.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Let me introduce you—this is Qiao Mucao. He’ll be taking you to the Inner City for testing. You two should talk.”

Captain Dai tidied his utensils as he spoke.

“Qiao Mucao, this is Ye Chen. I have a meeting, so I’ll leave you two.”

Captain Dai rose gratefully, slipping away at speed.

It didn’t take Ye Chen long to realize the reason—Captain Dai had called him to take the brunt.

Ye Chen wore a smiling face, cursing inwardly, as he listened to Qiao Mucao launch into his naturally enthusiastic monologue.

...

In Captain Lu’s office.

Qiao Mucao stood straight and respectful before the desk, his expression humble, eyes ever-smiling, mouth twitching as he prepared to report—

“Enough! Skip the verbal report. Give me the written one later—I’ll read it myself!”

Captain Lu, with his bullheaded authority, preemptively cut off the barrage of words about to erupt from Qiao Mucao, forcing him to swallow them.

Qiao Mucao felt stifled.

“Listen, you’re taking someone to the Inner City today, right? While you’re at it, drop by the Inner City Patrol Bureau for me.

“Go to the Internal Affairs office and find the director, collect something. Here’s the contact slip—I’ve already signed it.”

He pushed the slip forward.

Seeing Qiao Mucao’s mouth start twitching again, the old captain promptly spoke,

“No questions. Just bring the item back safely, and don’t open it.

“That’s all—you can go.”

From entry to exit, Qiao Mucao hadn’t uttered a word before Captain Lu sent him off.

Lu Biao knew him too well: if allowed to report, the words would gush like a flood, overwhelming and unstoppable.

Qiao Mucao could turn a succinct summary into a storytelling session, full of detailed process, his inner thoughts, even the weather forecast.

Not forgetting side plots, and finally recommending tasty foods, seamlessly inserting advertisements.

Watching Qiao Mucao’s flushed face as he left, Captain Lu let out a deep sigh.

Habitually, he touched the few strands of hair at his temple, eyes shining with intense anticipation.

Just then, the communicator on his desk suddenly vibrated.

Captain Lu picked it up, immediately adopting a humble, servile demeanor.

As if the speaker could see him through the device.

Throughout the call, all he uttered were “Yes, yes,” “Alright, alright,” “Received, received,” and nothing more.

Only after the call ended did he exhale in relief, respectfully placing the communicator back.

Peering through the window toward the Inner City, his expression was as devout as a loyal old hound.