“Ruthless?” Charles Carter suddenly turned his head, his eyes full of ferocity and madness: “You think it’s just going to end like this?”

People were still looking at the food on the ground with regret, not yet reacting, when Charles Carter had already lunged forward in a flash, grabbing Michael Bolton by the collar.

It was unbelievably fast—Charles Carter didn’t even know when he’d gained such speed. His blood was surging, his legs moving on their own, and he shot out like an arrow from a bow. When he grabbed Michael Bolton, not only was Michael Bolton caught off guard, even Charles Carter himself was momentarily stunned.

He didn’t have time to savor the feeling. With a swift hook of his foot, he decisively slammed Michael Bolton to the ground. Then, grabbing Michael Bolton by the hair, he viciously shoved his face into the spilled food: “Eat? I’ll let you eat your fill!”

With a loud “bang” and Michael Bolton’s shrill scream, everyone around them flinched.

This guy was truly ruthless! There wasn’t just food on the ground—there were also shards of the bowl! With that slam, Michael Bolton’s face was ruined. If a shard had hit his eye…

Only now did Michael Bolton’s buddies react, rushing over like madmen. Some kicked Charles Carter with all their might, others tried to pull him away, but Charles Carter didn’t dodge or avoid the blows. He just took the punches and kicks, continuing to smash Michael Bolton’s head into the food again and again. No one could pull him off.

After four or five strikes, those trying to pull him away did so more cautiously, and those kicking him didn’t dare anymore. Everyone slowly backed away.

Michael Bolton on the ground was completely silent.

Charles Carter stood up, panting heavily, and turned his face expressionlessly: “What? Wasn’t he the one who wanted to eat my food? If he’s stuffed, is that my fault? Do any of you want to eat?”

Michael Bolton’s buddies, terrified, avoided his fierce gaze. Everyone instinctively made way, watching as Charles Carter strode away.

Chapter 11: Born a Bandit

After leaving the crowd, Charles Carter turned into a corner and soon slumped against the wall, gasping for breath.

This Blood Fiend Technique was truly fierce—not just the burst of speed, but even when several people tried to pull him off, they couldn’t budge him. The strength was absurd. And he’d only practiced for one night and one morning…

But there were real problems too. After just a short while, he already felt weak and drained. He didn’t know if it was aftereffects from overexerting his energy, or just his own guilty conscience.

He’d put on a show, vented his anger, but who knew if Michael Bolton was dead or not… Just arrived and already fighting among themselves—what kind of punishment would that bring?

But in that moment, his blood was boiling—who the hell cared… Maybe that was another side effect of the Blood Fiend Technique? Or did he already have that in him?

“Regret it?” Suddenly, Instructor Harris’s voice came from around the corner.

Charles Carter turned to look. Instructor Harris stood not far away, arms crossed, watching him with a half-smile.

Charles Carter respected Instructor Harris, so he bowed his head and said, “Nothing to regret. I’ll accept whatever punishment I deserve. If I don’t show some backbone, I’ll just have to let others take my food in the future? I can’t live that kind of cowardly life.”

“Ha…” Instructor Harris interrupted, “Killer, Charles Carter! I knew you had that fire in you, no need to explain. What I’m asking is, do you regret practicing the Blood Fiend Technique? That feeling of your reason being affected.”

“Uh…” So it really was the technique’s influence, not just his own ruthlessness. Charles Carter was secretly relieved and replied, “No regrets for now. It’s a pretty badass technique, and I can’t worry about anything else. By the way, Instructor, does that mean Michael Bolton…”

“Dead.” Instructor Harris said indifferently, “He dared to snatch the meat I arranged? He provoked you first, got killed after—stupid and weak. Dead is dead.”

Charles Carter knew Instructor Harris was probably covering for him, so he bowed his head and said, “Thank you, Instructor…”

“Don’t give me that bookish crap.” Instructor Harris cursed, “Are you really here to take the imperial exams?”

Charles Carter: “?”

So even gratitude is wrong now?

“Earlier you tried to reason with Michael Bolton—did that do any good? And now? Who doesn’t fear you now! That’s how respect is earned!” Instructor Harris sneered, “When you killed Ethan Sullivan, I was there. I saw your boldness and guts—clearly born a bandit. That’s why I gave you a few extra pointers, so you can uphold the prestige of our Holy Sect in the jianghu! Or do you think I favor you because you have a tender ass?”

Born a bandit… Charles Carter was speechless.

There really is no love or hate without reason. Everything has two sides. When he killed Ethan Sullivan, Branch Master Fang was displeased, but Instructor Harris admired him.

Modern civility really doesn’t fit in this world—especially not in a bandit’s den like this. He was already a pretty tough guy, and after so many “murders in dreams,” he’d long gotten used to killing. If a more normal classmate had come here, they’d have no idea how to survive.

After thinking for a while, Charles Carter asked, “This is still our own camp. There have to be some limits… If things always go like today…”

Instructor Harris stared at him coldly for a long time: “You’re already in the jianghu.”

With that, he turned and left: “Come find me in an hour to learn the saber. From now on, practice your technique every morning, saber in the afternoon, and do as you please at night.”

Charles Carter watched his back, pursing his lips in silence.

This isn’t the jianghu I wanted.

…

An hour later, Charles Carter appeared at the training ground on time.