Living In Another World With A Farm Chapter 8462: Fear (1)

When the opponents noticed Feng Zhongxin was a sword cultivator, shock rippled through their group. As typical rogue cultivators, they dreaded encountering four types above all: sword cultivators, poison cultivators, body cultivators, and sect disciples. These were the sorts no loose cultivator wanted to cross, and even if paths intersected, they'd steer clear of any conflict. Thus, spotting Feng Zhongxin's sword cultivator status left them frozen in hesitation.

Yet, a sinister spark lit in one man's gaze, and he bellowed, "Why fear him? He's merely a sword Xiu. What threat is a sword Xiu to us? Besides, he's just a rogue sword cultivator who's somehow snagged an inheritance. Slay them, and all their belongings become ours. Attack!"

His words first stunned the group, then ignited a savage gleam in their eyes. Weapons in hand, they charged at the pair without delay. Their movements screamed habitual bandits, killers who preyed on the weak. Though Feng Zhongxin's sword cultivator aura had sparked caution, true terror eluded them. Now, with their leader's command, their ruthless nature surged forth.

Feng Zhongxin's face darkened at their aggressive rush. He tensed to strike, but Zhao Hai's calm voice cut in: "Big brother Feng, hold on. They pose no danger to us." The steady tone carried weight that left Feng Zhongxin reeling. Puzzled, he shot Zhao Hai a questioning look, baffled by the interruption.

Zhao Hai offered no explanation, merely tilting his head toward the oncoming foes. Feng Zhongxin followed his gaze, and astonishment hit him hard. His features twisted in alarm. The attackers' faces had blackened entirely—not from rage, but a deep, unnatural hue that made them ghastly. As a seasoned rogue cultivator, Feng Zhongxin instantly recognized the signs of poisoning.

The men charged on, oblivious to their plight, until they neared three meters. Then, their eyes bulged wildly, and they vomited blood. Bodies crumpling forward, they collapsed lifeless to the earth.

Gazing at the eight sprawled corpses, a cold shiver raced up Feng Zhongxin's spine to his crown, numbing his scalp. Zhao Hai had once claimed expertise in poison, but Feng Zhongxin dismissed it as minor knowledge. Today's display shattered that notion completely.

These thugs likely got dosed mid-conversation, not during any clash. Zhao Hai must have struck while they talked, unseen by Feng Zhongxin—or anyone. The victims probably sensed nothing until death's grip, a horror beyond imagining.

Feng Zhongxin gaped at the bodies, words failing him. Zhao Hai approached, rifled through their gear, then returned. Snapping from his trance, Feng Zhongxin fixed a dazed stare on Zhao Hai, emotions flickering across his face. Finally, exhaling deeply, he muttered, "You're impressive, brother Zou. Your poison skills are unmatched."

"Nothing special. Let's head back, big brother Feng," Zhao Hai replied with a grin. He kept his secrets from Feng Zhongxin, of course. Today's poison display aimed to showcase his power. Sensing Feng Zhongxin's hidden agenda, Zhao Hai issued this subtle warning. If Feng Zhongxin backed off wisely, all would be well. Otherwise, consequences awaited.

Zhao Hai remained unaware of the wind messengers' true purpose. Had he known they hunted the Ghostwind Bandits' treasure, he'd have ended them outright. Though the treasure's location eluded him, he knew treasure seekers rarely spared rivals. These pursuers, obsessed over a millennium, burned with unyielding fixation.

Feng Zhongxin eyed Zhao Hai warily, dread gnawing at him. With such lethal poison mastery, clashing head-on spelled disaster. He recoiled from the thought. Was tangling with this foe truly wise? Treasure tempted, but survival mattered more.

Though turmoil churned within, Feng Zhongxin masked it, nodding to Zhao Hai. "Fine, let's return. This spot's turned cursed; no lingering here." He trailed Zhao Hai skyward over the blood sea, vanishing swiftly into its depths. The fallen cultivators' remains? Ignored entirely—no mercy for burial.

Soon after their departure, shadows emerged before the bodies. Gasps escaped them at the sight, faces twisting in grim disgust. Poison's mark was plain, fueling their unease.

One spoke up: "A true poison expert, no doubt. No clue how he pulled it off—we watched from afar, saw nothing. Back we go; grill Feng Xin on it. Alert brother Wen at once. Move." The group agreed, ascending sharply. Even Wang Liang stayed mute. Hot-tempered as he was, folly didn't define him. A body cultivator like him still feared poison's touch—crossing those men meant peril.

In a fog, Feng Zhongxin guided Zhao Hai to Blood Lake Island. He urged Zhao Hai to unwind; the outing had dragged on into night, delaying sales till dawn. Zhao Hai agreed without fuss, retiring to his quarters.

Feng Zhongxin headed to his inn, straight to Wen Liren's door. A knock brought Wen Liren's call: "Zhong Xin, you're back. Enter." Feng Zhongxin complied, freezing at the threshold. Nearly all his comrades filled the space.

Feng Zhongxin hurried to tidy up, then took a seat as Wen Liren gestured. Wen Liren eyed him keenly. "Zhong Xin, spill it—what happened after leaving with Zou Xiao today? Gauge his power? His poison prowess in particular?"

Bitter smile twisting his lips, Feng Zhongxin nodded gravely. "Blood jade flowers fetched high prices today, so I suggested picking some to bond with him. Things went fine initially; we gathered plenty. But crowds swelled, stripping the blooms fast. As we turned to go, thugs blocked us. I held back at first, not wanting Zou Xiao involved—just aiming to befriend, not probe him yet. Suspicion could've ruined it; chances would come later. So, I flashed my sword cultivator badge, hoping to intimidate them into backing off. Didn't work—they lunged anyway. Then Zhao Hai struck. No idea when or with what toxin, but as they closed in, poison felled them dead."

Wen Liren blinked in surprise at the tale, then probed uncertainly: "So, you missed his move entirely? No sign of when? He did nothing overt? Not poison techniques, then?" Feng Zhongxin's account strained belief, stirring Wen Liren's doubt.

Bitter laugh escaping, Feng Zhongxin shook his head. "No poison techniques I spotted, and truly, I saw zilch on how. Timing? A mystery. I bantered briefly with them, they drew arms for assault. Yet ten feet out, they dropped, blackening and spewing blood. Poison type? Unknown. Speed was blinding."

Feng Zhongxin's recounting sent chills through him anew. The listeners shivered too, catching the raw shock and dread in his voice. Wang Liang and the corpse-viewers shared the icy dread.

Wen Liren's countenance shifted. After a pause, he scowled. "Zou Xiao wasn't bluffing—poison mastery confirmed. This complicates everything. Ideas on handling him?" The puzzle gnawed at Wen Liren. An unseen poisoner like this? A nightmare opponent. One slip, and death followed.

Silence gripped Feng Zhongxin and the rest. Truth be told, such a foe left them stumped. His strikes defied logic—if the method showed, defenses rose. But invisible? Impossible to counter. Suicide, plain and simple.

Wen Liren growled low: "Regardless, here's the plan. Zhong Xin, keep cozying up; lure him into drink or schemes. Anyone know how to dose a poison whiz? Drug him if poison fails. Dig up antidote intel too. We end this quick—I refuse to let Zou Xiao outwit our numbers!"