The other guy was very strange—his body was so thin and weak that he didn’t look like a martial artist at all, and his arms looked odd too, thick and completely out of proportion with the rest of his body.

This guy must have trained in martial arts, but he also practiced some kind of sinister, unorthodox secret technique.

Being able to act together with an eighth-rank martial artist, it’s safer to assume he’s also eighth-rank, and his threat level is even higher than that swordsman.

Looking back at Edward Grant himself, he was only at the early stage of ninth rank, with almost zero combat experience, and only the heart ghost in his jade pendant as a trump card—the gap in strength was huge.

But in this situation, no matter how big the gap, he had to give it a shot.

Edward Grant deliberately came to this small inn to rest, just to put the initiative in his own hands.

Otherwise, if he were out in the open, under the watch of three retainers and besieged by two cultivators, he’d be as good as dead.

The narrower and more complex the place, the better his chances.

Edward Grant had only transmigrated a few days ago—he definitely didn’t want to gamble on whether heaven would give him another chance to transmigrate.

Thinking this, Edward Grant suddenly stood up.

The three retainers beside him immediately stood up as well, grinning insincerely as they asked, “Young master, what are you planning to do?”

“Going to the latrine.”

“We’ll accompany you, young master.”

Edward Grant snorted coldly, “I’ve grown up just fine—do you think I can’t even use the latrine? Or are you worried I’ll fall in? Let me tell you, I don’t have any of those weird fetishes!”

At this moment, Richard Foster suddenly coughed. The three retainers exchanged glances, and the leader smiled and said, “Young master, just go and come back quickly.”

With that, the three of them sat back down.

The innkeeper pointed outside and said, “Young master, the latrine is just outside.”

Edward Grant nodded, pushed open the door, and walked out.

Richard Foster and Samuel Wright also exchanged a glance and followed him out.

At this point, the innkeeper also started to feel that something was off.

Did these two groups know each other or not?

The head retainer placed his long knife on the table, grinning insincerely at the innkeeper and said:

“Innkeeper, we’re going to use your inn for some business. No matter what you hear later, don’t go outside. Seeing too much isn’t good for you.”

Cold sweat immediately poured down the innkeeper’s face, and he cursed his luck inwardly.

He’d seen vendettas in the jianghu before, but judging by these people’s demeanor, this wasn’t a vendetta—it was an assassination. Was he going to be silenced as a witness?

One of the three retainers glanced outside, a bit reluctant, and said, “Actually, the young master isn’t a bad person. When I was on gate duty before, every time he passed by, he’d smile at me.”

The head retainer glared at him fiercely and growled, “Idiot! Can a smile fill your belly?

Don’t forget who pays you, who lets you eat, who lets you support your wife and kids!

The compensation from the court gets skimmed so much you can’t even buy a cow. Haven’t you seen what happened to the other colleagues?

A hand that’s used to wielding a knife can only go slaughter pigs and clean out pig guts, and when old injuries flare up, you can’t even afford medicine.

It was the general who took us in, and the madam who gave us food and shelter!

It’s not like you’re being asked to kill anyone, so why act all soft?

This time, as long as we don’t get blood on our hands, we’ll each stab ourselves a few times, say we ran into bandits, and we’ll get twenty taels of silver when we report back.

Get your head straight—don’t mess up at a time like this!”

The retainer lowered his head at these words, sighed, and said nothing more.

Inside the inn’s latrine, Edward Grant opened the door and walked in, immediately assaulted by a foul stench.

The latrine wasn’t big—besides the squat pit, there was only enough space for two or three people to stand. The layout was even better than Edward Grant had imagined.

With a thought, he released the heart ghost from the black jade space, letting it hang upside down from the ceiling. Edward Grant could clearly feel his energy being steadily drained.

Forcing down his pounding heart, Edward Grant gripped the dagger in his arms tightly, telling himself over and over to stay calm.

He only had one chance, and he was betting that the two wouldn’t come in together.

Outside the latrine, Richard Foster waved a hand in front of his nose, frowning. “First time killing someone in a latrine—what bad luck. You or me?”

“You do it. If I unseal my black zombie arm, the corpse poison in my body will get worse. No need to waste it on such a small fry.”

Samuel Wright’s voice was hoarse and low, like gravel scraping together—very unpleasant to hear.

Richard Foster chuckled, shook his head, and said, “You’re just too proud for your own good, swearing all those oaths. Even though you’ve left the Wu family, you still refuse to kill anyone from the Wu family.

If you won’t kill anyone from the Wu family, where are you going to find a complete severed vein ghost-refining method to suppress the corpse poison?”

As he spoke, Richard Foster casually pulled open the latrine door and walked in.

The latrine door was tied with a strip of cow tendon, and as Richard Foster entered, it snapped shut behind him.

The moment Richard Foster came in, before he could say anything, Edward Grant asked, “How much silver did my aunt give you? I’ll pay double!”

Richard Foster was taken aback, then laughed and said, “It’s useless. In our line of work, we have to stick to professional ethics. Besides, we know your situation—you don’t have…”