Urban: Super God-Ring System

C23 – I Just Stood There Without Moving

“That’s a relief. But since Zhen Huahui once saved my life, I vowed to protect his family for five years. If Mr. Zhen has his eye on this young lady, then I’ll help make it happen.” Ghostfreak said with a chilling smile.

“Uncle Ghostfreak, you’re always so good to me. Miss Zhuang, just come along quietly.” Mr. Zhen was ecstatic, believing he had everything under control.

“How dare you insult me? Aren’t you afraid of the Zhuang family seeking revenge?” Miss Zhuang’s face finally showed a reaction, clearly recognizing the infamous ghost nail.

Unfazed, Ghostfreak coolly regarded Miss Zhuang, “A year ago, I infiltrated the northeast to take out the King of Ginseng and made off with the golden ginseng. I didn’t fear the entire northeast mafia then, and I certainly don’t fear a small family like yours now.”

“You!” Miss Zhuang’s face grew stormy, but she was at a loss for words. The man before her was brazen and utterly fearless.

“Ghostfreak, if you go through with this, the Zhuang and Tu families of Hong Kong will unite to hunt you down. Does that not scare you?” Zhuang Xian and Zhuang Junjie closed in around Miss Zhuang, with Zhuang Junjie issuing a sharp warning.

“The Tu family?” Ghostfreak gave Miss Zhuang a surprised look, then had an epiphany, “I’ve heard about the Zhuang and Tu families’ marriage alliance. So, you’re the Zhuang girl? Perfect. The Shadow Killer, second on the Assassin Leaderboard and trained by the Tu family, is someone I’ve been eager to test my skills against. Now that I know you’re connected to the Tu family, I’m even more inclined to keep you here.”

“Outrageous!”

This time, Leng Hao refused to hold back. They were dealing with ruthless characters, and if he kept playing nice, the Leng family would be disrespected.

“Ghostfreak, watch your step; you’re on Leng family turf.” Leng Hao’s eyes darkened, and his hands turned a sinister shade of blood-red.

Ghostfreak wasn’t taken aback by Leng Hao’s transformation. He sneered, “If this were Old Mr. Leng, I might be concerned. But your Blood Palm technique is subpar; you’re no threat to me.”

“Really?” Leng Hao gave a wicked smile, lifting his blood-red hands and striking towards Ghostfreak.

“Hmph, biting off more than you can chew,” Ghostfreak scoffed, his figure swiftly dodging the attack. Instead of backing away, he closed in, nimbly avoiding Leng Hao’s Blood Palm. A red ghost nail suddenly emerged in his right hand.

The ghost nail flashed, stabbing Leng Hao at the waist. Leng Hao’s face contorted, and he collapsed, rigid. Rage flickered across his features, yet he was rendered speechless and immobile.

“Out of respect for Old Mr. Leng, I’ll spare your life, but you’d better behave,” Ghostfreak said coolly, turning his head with an air of arrogance.

The sight of Leng Hao hitting the ground caused the flippant young man’s face to pale. He breathed a sigh of relief at Ghostfreak’s words, resisting the urge to step in. Those ranked on the Assassin Leaderboard were not just skilled in martial arts; their killing techniques were superior. They could take a life with a mere gesture, so it was wise to avoid confrontation.

“Brother, aren’t you going to take action? Your lady is about to be taken,” the elfin teased from atop the Crystal Cabinet, swinging her legs smugly.

“No need to hurry. A true master makes his entrance last, to truly captivate the audience,” Wen Huaimu replied calmly, with a serene smile.

The elfin rolled her eyes. “Brother, you’re no master. You’re even less skilled than I am.”

Wen Huaimu kept silent, thinking to himself, “I can’t compare to you, of course. I meant that I’m stronger than the rest.”

But with Leng Hao now defeated, and Zhuang Xian proving unreliable, Wen Huaimu sensed it was time to step in. Men always relished the chance to rescue a damsel in distress.

He cleared his throat to announce his presence.

Rising to his feet, Wen Huaimu smiled at Miss Zhuang. “Sister, these folks are far too fierce. Brawling like this isn’t any fun. Let’s leave this place and find somewhere else to enjoy ourselves.”

As his words hung in the air, a stunned silence fell over the crowd in the hall.

The gamblers, previously petrified and eager to escape, lamented internally, foreseeing another unfortunate soul about to meet his end.

Mr. Zhen turned his gaze to Wen Huaimu, his face betraying a flicker of surprise.

“I almost forgot you. You’re the reason I flew off the handle. Today, I’m in such a good mood, I’ve decided to let you live. Just chop off that card-dealing hand of yours.”

“This one?” Wen Huaimu played the fool, raising his right hand in query.

“Yes, that one. Do yourself the favor and chop it off.” With that, Mr. Zhen produced a gleaming machete from beneath the table and tossed it at Wen Huaimu’s feet.

“I have to say, I’m impressed. Carrying a machete even to a gambling game? You’re clearly an old hand in this world,” Wen Huaimu remarked with a hint of admiration.

Mr. Zhen’s eyebrows twitched, offering no reply, yet his smugness was unmistakable.

“Still, you’re giving yourself too much credit. I’m offering you one last chance. Take him and get out of here, and I’ll let you off the hook.” Wen Huaimu gestured menacingly with a mock chop, signaling his cutthroat intent.

“Ha! Now you’re threatening me? Fine, today you’ll witness firsthand how I handle my business,” Mr. Zhen declared, advancing toward Wen Huaimu, intent on doing the deed himself.

Wen Huaimu gave a thumbs-up, then deftly kicked the machete lying on the ground. With a smile, he said, “I’ll give you a shot. I’ll stand right here and let you take a swing at me.”

“You’re asking for it,” Mr. Zhen snapped, visibly irked.

Machete in hand and a cruel sneer on his face, Mr. Zhen proclaimed, “Then meet your demise.”

With those words, the blade descended swiftly toward Wen Huaimu’s head.

Yet Wen Huaimu remained smiling, unfazed.

“He’s lost his mind from fear!”

The onlookers murmured among themselves.

Even Miss Zhuang, who had been eagerly awaiting the outcome, clutched her mouth, nearly screaming.

But then, the unexpected occurred. Mr. Zhen’s machete came down with full force, his arm following through unimpeded. As he marveled at the ease of the strike, he caught the horrified stares of the spectators, their faces as if they had just seen a ghost.

Mr. Zhen was feeling quite pleased with himself.

But soon, a sense of unease washed over him as a sharp pain shot through his hand.

It was coming from his wrist.

As Mr. Zhen lifted his hand once more, he was struck with disbelief.

The knife he had been holding had vanished.

And with it, the hand that had gripped the knife was also missing.

His palm had disappeared, and from the severed wrist, streams of blood were spurting out, dripping onto the carpet below.

Numbness spread through Mr. Zhen’s entire arm. He looked up, his eyes clouded with confusion, only to see Ghostfreak, his supposed rock of support, staring back at him in horror. Ghostfreak’s gaze was fixed on Wen Huaimu.

Turning his head, Mr. Zhen’s eyes fell upon his own knife-wielding hand, still poised above Wen Huaimu’s head. The gleaming edge was a mere finger’s breadth from Wen Huaimu’s hair, seemingly halted by an invisible barrier, eternally frozen in place, unable to cut even the slightest bit further.

Overwhelmed by the agony and terror, Mr. Zhen clutched his severed wrist and collapsed to the floor, curling up tightly.

Echoes of his screams filled the entire hall.