The rest stood by with folded arms, their eyes full of mockery. Only George Clark, like a cat toying with a mouse, circled within half a zhang of Ethan. From time to time, he would slash Ethan with his sword, or stab out a spray of blood. A smile played on his lips, as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

The cat-eared girl, however, seemed completely unaware of her predicament. Though she could barely stand, she still futilely tried to chase after George Clark's figure.

It wasn't until the wild wind by the carriage dissipated and the wind blades faded that she finally stopped, despair in her eyes.

George Clark was also taken aback, suddenly retreating several steps to keep his distance, looking toward Henry Clark. A flash of doubt crossed his face, then he smiled brightly again.

“So it’s Henry. It seems Ethan’s spellcasting still isn’t quite there yet. Haha! Just now I was worrying about how to break this wind barrier talisman array. I won’t kill you today—how about coming back to Qiantian Mountain with me? With George protecting you, no one would dare take your throne. But this Ethan is quite something, so fierce—why don’t you let me have her—”

Henry Clark couldn’t be bothered to respond, his expression intensely focused as he looked Ethan up and down, as if wanting to etch every wound and sword mark on her body deep into his heart.

At the same time, he channeled strands of true qi from his wheel meridian into the Pine-Patterned Maple Sword, his thoughts drifting—he wondered, was there any difference between the feeling of killing and dismembering someone in reality and doing so in a fully virtual illusion?

In his previous life’s games, there was a guy known as the “dismemberment maniac.” After killing, he always liked to mutilate the corpses, making it unbearable to watch, infamous.

Back then, Henry Clark never understood, finding it all rather baffling. But today, without realizing it, he found the same violent urge rising in his own chest.

The Sword Emperor Tan Qiu, ten thousand years later, in his first battle of this era—his opponents turned out to be such scum!

George Clark, seeing Henry Clark silent for so long, thought he’d been scared stiff, and couldn’t help but snort: “I thought you’d improved over the years, but you’re still not worth mentioning!”

He was about to signal the others to seize him, when Henry Clark suddenly spoke: “Ethan, do those wounds hurt?”

Ethan was already dazed, but upon hearing this, though confused, she immediately shook her head and said, “They don’t hurt, but Ethan does regret not taking better care of the young master! It’s all Ethan’s fault—”

Henry Clark felt a pang in his heart, but smiled on the surface: “If it doesn’t hurt, then watch closely as your young master gets revenge for you! I’ll take all their heads and give them to you to kick around like balls, how about that?”

Not only was Ethan surprised—balls? Like embroidered balls? Are those for kicking?—even the others around were stunned. George Clark was both angry and amused, mocking, “Revenge? You’re just a useless wretch who can’t even protect yourself—who are you going to avenge? Henry, are you crazy, or just stupid?”

He waved his hand carelessly, and the three blue-clad swordsmen beside him leapt forward, charging across the ground like arrows, stabbing straight at him.

Henry Clark raised his brows, then took a deep, unhurried breath, adjusting his body to its optimal state. The Pine-Patterned Wind Sword pointed diagonally forward, both hands gripping tight. The power hidden within him exploded. His right foot stomped the ground, propelling him forward half a zhang!

In future games, he had killed countless people. But in reality, whether fighting or killing, this was his first time.

Yet he adapted surprisingly well, feeling no awkwardness at all. In his chest, it was as if a flame was burning fiercely.

With just a few strides, he could clearly see the faces of his opponents. Dressed in blue, burly figures, charging straight at him. In the eyes of all three, there was the green irises unique to the lower wolf clan. At this moment, their eyes were full of cold cruelty, but not a trace of fighting spirit. In their minds, they probably never saw him as an opponent—just a clown, all bluster and no substance.

With a self-mocking smile, Henry Clark’s right chest, at the Wind Spirit acupoint called the Spirit Pool, suddenly burst open. True qi exploded within, channeling into his legs.

“Treading the Wind!”

With a strange footwork, Henry Clark’s figure flickered, leaving behind an afterimage. His speed suddenly doubled! He appeared right in front of the first man, almost face to face, seeing the shock and terror in the man’s eyes.

“Piercing Sword!”

Without the slightest hesitation, the sword flashed forward like lightning.

A line of blood instantly sprayed out, carrying countless fragments of bone and flesh, wildly gushing from the gaping throat wound!

Chapter 013: The Power of the Talisman Blade

As the blood sprayed, the other two blue-clad swordsmen were stunned.

Behind them, George Clark stared in disbelief at the scene. Could he be seeing things? The man who just died, though far inferior to the Li brothers, was still a peak warrior, having opened three meridians, and his swordsmanship was top-notch among his peers. Yet he was so easily killed with a single sword to the throat—by his cousin, who couldn’t even open his wheel meridian?

Henry Clark’s movements didn’t pause for a moment!

“Devouring Origin!”

His qi and blood reversed, wheel meridian spinning backward! At the tip of the Pine-Patterned Wind Sword, a powerful suction erupted. It drew out all the man’s magic power and remaining life force, gathering it into the sword as pure origin energy.

A pity his spiritual eye wasn’t open yet, or he might have even seen the man’s soul being sucked away by that sword!