Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Ancient Vampire Fiend

Ma Beifang did not believe in tales of vampires. He was convinced that some mysterious expert was behind the strange happenings and, after conferring with the camp manager, insisted that no one act rashly until the truth was uncovered, lest they fall prey to the hidden foe. That night, security was tightened at the martial training camp; no one was allowed to move about freely, and the patrols passed back and forth without rest. Even Huang Shan and his group were specially notified: as soon as night fell, the camp gates were shut tight, and everyone lay in wait with their weapons, tense and alert for a sudden attack from the elusive killer.

Yet sleep eluded Ma Beifang that night, which was only natural—who could rest easy knowing some nameless danger lurked so near? He passed a sleepless night and, at daybreak, gathered the others. “You can’t guard against thieves for a thousand days,” he declared. “Today I’ll go to that place myself. Be it man, demon, or vampire, I’ll confront it head on. Who among you will come with me?”

The martial instructors looked troubled and hesitated in silence. Ma Beifang flew into a rage: “You call yourselves martial artists, yet you’re all so craven and afraid of death! Very well, I’ll go alone!” With that, sword in hand, he strode out the door. He Jia-hui, anxious for his safety, quickly rounded up a dozen desperate men from among the Japanese, arming them with long blades to follow.

It was close to noon when they reached the loggers’ camp. The day passed uneventfully; the group took out their rations, water, and rice wine, eating and drinking their fill before sleeping on the ground. As dusk fell, they woke and readied themselves, but nothing unusual happened, even as midnight approached.

Someone asked, “Could that demon have left?” Before the words had faded, Ma Beifang’s vision blurred, and two of the Japanese collapsed limply to the ground. He shouted, “Be careful! The demon is here!” The group raised their blades in alarm, but apart from the dark bamboo forest, there was nothing to be seen. Suddenly, a shadow flashed on the left. Ma Beifang cried, “There! On the left!” and everyone hacked with their swords, but the space before them was empty. Behind them, however, there were screams—four men fell, slain by the sword, and the shadow calmly crouched over one, drinking the hot blood from his heart.

The remaining seven or eight Japanese, terrified out of their wits, screamed and bolted toward the mountain’s edge. Ma Beifang shouted in desperation, “Don’t scatter! Stay together!” But panic had overtaken them; no one listened, and each man fled in a different direction.

The shadow leapt up, flitting among them like a butterfly weaving through flowers, his sword flashing with unpredictable reach. In moments, the Japanese lay dead where they fell.

Then the shadow turned, sword drawn, and charged at Ma Beifang. This time, Ma Beifang saw it clearly—not a vampire, but a man, a man of extraordinary martial skill. Realizing the night would likely end in disaster, Ma Beifang steeled himself and met the attack, performing the Falling Snow Sword Technique.

The Falling Snow Sword was light and unbroken, its defense flawless, but the stranger thrust straight in with his sword. This thrust contained no feints or variations—just a single, direct stab, as if made by someone who knew nothing of swordplay. There was no artifice, no room for adjustment.

Ma Beifang twisted his blade, using a deflection technique to parry. Instantly, he felt as if the thrust weighed a thousand catties, utterly unmoving, and sparks flew as the opponent’s sword scraped along his own. A shimmering blade of force, over three feet long, shot from the sword tip like a venomous snake toward his heart. Now he understood why there was never any sign of a weapon on the dead—the sword had not pierced them; they were slain by sword energy.

Startled, Ma Beifang sprang back, but the man pursued him with unhurried ease, as if strolling in a garden, his sword extending in another feigned thrust. Suddenly, a force like a landslide struck Ma Beifang’s chest. His insides churned, and he was thrown several yards like a kite cut from its string.

Landing hard, he immediately focused his energy to steady himself. The man, having missed with his first attack, seemed slightly surprised, but with a casual swing, his sword slashed through the air with a sharp hiss. In desperation, Ma Beifang executed the Iron Bridge move, flattening himself to the ground just as a razor-sharp sword energy sliced past his nose. The massive tree behind him, broad enough for two men to embrace, was severed cleanly as if by an axe, its crown crashing to the earth.

Ma Beifang leapt atop the stump and, glancing down, saw the cut was as smooth as if sawn. He was inwardly aghast. The man laughed, “Shadowless before the lamp? Ah, so you’re a disciple of the Tianshan Sect.” With that, he lightly struck the stump with his sword, and Ma Beifang felt a heavy force crash down on his head like a falling star. He sprang onto a nearby bamboo, tapping his feet to vault to its top, just as the thick stump exploded into splinters.

The man’s swordplay was as simple as could be, devoid of tricks, yet his mastery of inner strength, speed, and precision was absolute. Even more astonishing, his sword moves contained the force of palm, fist, and finger techniques—an incredible feat.

The man continued, “Young man, your skills are impressive. I need a small favor; come down and let’s talk.”

Ma Beifang retorted, “You fiend! My Tianshan Sect is a righteous school. What is there to discuss with the likes of you?”

The stranger chuckled, “Don’t be so absolute, young man. You call yourself righteous; I’m no fiend. Rescuing those in peril is the duty of your sect, isn’t it? Besides, I’m not asking for help for nothing. My martial arts are at least passable—I’ll teach you everything I know. With my skills, you’d be invincible in the martial world.” As he spoke, he flicked his sword, splitting the thick bamboo in two. The force swept past Ma Beifang, making his skin sting, though he was unharmed.

Ma Beifang flipped down from the bamboo, intending to dash down the mountain. The man plucked a bamboo leaf and flicked it at him. The air whistled as the leaf flew, and Ma Beifang, unable to dodge, slashed at it with his sword. There was a clang as blade met leaf—it was like striking stone. The sword, a gift from the Wang brothers, was razor-sharp, yet could not cut the leaf. Instead, the blade quivered violently, nearly flying from his grip.

The bamboo leaf sped straight for his brow, but just as it was about to strike, it lost momentum and drifted softly to the ground. Ma Beifang let out a long breath, drenched in sweat. Not only had his opponent reached a level where even flowers and leaves could become deadly weapons, but he could also control their force at will within a hair’s breadth. Even Tianshan’s grandmaster might not match such skill. The man stepped forward, tapped Ma Beifang’s acupoint, and Ma Beifang’s vision went black as he fainted.

He had no idea how much time had passed before he gradually regained consciousness. He found himself in a dim cave, furnished with rough tables and benches of stone and bamboo. By torchlight, he saw the man sitting cross-legged in the depths of the cave—a middle-aged man with a weathered face. The man said, “You’re awake. Stand up and answer me.”

Ma Beifang could only rise, shouting, “You demon! You’ve kidnapped me and brought me here. Kill or torture me as you will—I won’t so much as frown.”

The man smiled gently. “Why such words? It’s true I’ve killed many, but I had no choice—there are reasons for my actions.”

Ma Beifang spat, “You kill and drink blood, and yet you claim to have your reasons? Are you saying those men deserved to die?”

The man replied, “I lived here in seclusion, bothering no one, but those loggers came and disturbed my peace. They claimed there were wild beasts in this cave and wanted to set fires, so naturally, I could not allow it. That’s why I killed them. As for the others, I knew you would not let the matter rest and would eventually come searching in force, perhaps even burning the mountain. So I had to strike first. In truth, I only acted in self-preservation. If you think I’m lying, consider: you’ve been on this island for over half a year—have I ever troubled you?”

Ma Beifang said, “If we trespassed on your land and you killed in response, that’s one thing. But why drink their blood?”

The man answered, “I suffer from a chronic illness that can only be kept in check by drinking the blood of living creatures. Normally, I feed on wild animals, but you’ve stirred things up so much that all the beasts have fled. Where am I to find prey? And since those men were already dead, drinking their blood was only to avoid waste.” Though it was a cruel and bloody business, the man spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world, leaving Ma Beifang at a loss for words.

After a moment, Ma Beifang asked, “What illness afflicts you, senior?” The man smiled with delight. “You’re willing to call me ‘senior’—so my judgment was not wrong. My illness, truth be told, is not so terrible. While training, I was too eager for progress, and my internal energy went awry. When the malady strikes, I lose control and become savage, and only drinking hot blood can keep it at bay for a time. If I go too long without it, I’ll go mad and perish.”

Ma Beifang wondered, “If it’s just a matter of disordered internal energy, surely you can gradually guide it back on track through focused meditation. That may be hard for someone with weak skills, but your inner strength is profound. Can you not adjust it?”

The man smiled wryly. “My skills are too mixed—there must be dozens of inner force methods tangled together, and it’s almost impossible to blend them into one. Guiding the energy back is easier said than done.”

Ma Beifang asked in astonishment, “Why is that? Did you train in dozens of techniques at once? How could that even be possible?” The man gave a bitter laugh. “More or less. I didn’t do it willingly but was forced by villains. Never mind the details. It was my own greed that led to this calamity.”

Ma Beifang asked, “Then why have you brought me here?”

The man replied, “Curing my illness is not difficult in theory. I need someone of strength comparable to mine to use their inner energy to clear my obstructed channels. Once the blockage is gone, the deviant meridian will become normal, and I won’t need to guide the energy anymore. But finding such a person is nearly impossible. He must have orthodox inner training, but more crucially, his method must match mine. To find such a man is almost hopeless. Not to mention, the way I cultivated my internal force is unique—there’s no one else like me in the world.”