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墨書 Inktalez
The atmosphere in the teahouse erupted like a boiling pot, descending into chaos. Someone stood up urgently, shouting, "Don't do anything foolish! This could cost lives!" Others pounded on the tables, excitedly yelling, "Hurry up and make your move! Don't hesitate, just strike!"
Different voices rose and fell; some tried to calm the situation while others seemed eager to stir up trouble. The scene was filled with noise and confusion. A few timid patrons quickly moved to the corners, fearful of being caught up in the turmoil, while those who thrived on excitement widened their eyes, gleaming with anticipation, eager for a bloody spectacle.
A burly man raised his knife high, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead. His gaze darted back and forth between the ronin and the crowd surrounding him, caught in a dilemma that felt impossible to resolve. His hand trembled slightly, as if the oppressive atmosphere was suffocating him.
The ronin remained standing still, his posture straight, hands clasped behind his back. His gaze was calm and icy, revealing no hint of anxiety. The corners of his mouth curled slightly upwards, carrying a hint of disdain and provocation, as if silently challenging, "Come on, if you dare, strike."
"Do it!" someone in the crowd urged, their tone laced with mockery and impatience. "What are you afraid of? He said it himself—he can't be killed!"
"Yeah, stop being so wishy-washy!" another voice chimed in.
The burly man's face grew increasingly grim; his breathing became labored. He held the knife aloft but could not bring himself to strike. The hesitation in his heart clashed violently with the crowd's urging, pushing his emotions to the brink of collapse.
"Enough!" he suddenly roared, his voice booming over all the noise. Instantly, the teahouse fell silent; everyone held their breath, eyes fixed on the knife in his hand.
In that moment of silence, a flicker of determination flashed in the burly man's eyes. Gritting his teeth, he raised the knife and aimed it at the ronin's chest, pouring all his strength into a fierce downward strike!
"Thud!"
The blade crashed heavily against the ronin's body but produced an unexpectedly dull sound instead of a splatter of blood. The ronin stood motionless; not even a mark appeared on his skin, as if his body were made of indestructible steel rather than flesh and blood.
The burly man froze in shock; the knife nearly slipped from his grasp due to the recoil. His eyes widened in disbelief as he stammered, "How... how is this possible?"
The crowd erupted into gasps and murmurs, the atmosphere once again boiling over. The Ronin glanced down at the blade embedded in his chest, a satisfied smile creeping onto his lips. He lifted his head and gently addressed the stunned giant, "Do you understand now?"
Inside the teahouse, chaos reigned as people shouted in excitement. Some pointed at the Ronin, babbling about what had just transpired, while others crowded around the giant to confirm whether the blade had truly been struck with full force. The entire scene surged like boiling water, vibrant and lively.
The Ronin bowed slightly, expressing gratitude for the giant's "cooperation," before retrieving his sword from the man's hands. Although the giant's face was filled with reluctance, the earlier spectacle instilled a newfound respect for the Ronin, forcing him to retreat in silence.
At that moment, several other Ronin warriors approached, their eyes glinting with keen interest, fixated on the empty bottle cradled in the Ronin's arms. A slender Ronin spoke first, his tone filled with curiosity and eagerness: "Hey, what was that liquid just now? Its ability to withstand blades is nothing short of miraculous!"
Another chimed in, urgency lacing his voice: "Not just against blades! To survive an Extermination Bomb... that's practically a lifesaver! Please, let us see it!"
Hearing their words, the Ronin wore an expression of embarrassment. He sighed softly, slowly sheathing his sword as he replied, "This... oh dear, it's not that I don't want to share; it's just that it's my family's Secret Technique. It's been passed down through generations and cannot be revealed."
Rather than dampening their enthusiasm, his words only heightened the warriors' excitement. They moved closer to him, and one bearded warrior knelt on one knee, hands clasped together in supplication: "Please, brother! I have no other passion but to challenge masters everywhere. If I had this liquid, my life would be much more secure! If not, I'm willing to pay—name your price!"
"Exactly!" another warrior quickly added, pulling out a bundle of banknotes from his pocket and placing it before the Ronin. "Money is no issue! Just give us some of it; I promise you won't lose a single coin!"
The Ronin feigned difficulty, his gaze darting around as he repeatedly declined: "This... this really isn't possible... The rules of my family are strict; I can't do anything about it. No matter how much you plead... oh, this is truly troublesome."
His attitude was one of refusal yet deliberately ambiguous—neither fully rejecting nor agreeing. This demeanor only convinced everyone that the secret he held was of immeasurable value. The warriors began raising their offers or kneeling in desperation as the scene grew increasingly animated.
Observing the crowd closing in around him, a troubled expression crossed the Ronin's face; his brows furrowed as if engaged in an intense internal struggle. He lowered his head and remained silent for a long time while those around him waited eagerly, their faces filled with anticipation as the tension in the teahouse escalated.
Finally, he lifted his head, determination flickering in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he spoke in a low yet fervent tone: "The purpose behind my ancestor's creation of this liquid was to protect lives and allow more people to survive in chaotic times. I should bear this mission and become someone who changes the world; unfortunately... I have failed to live up to that potential."
He paused for a moment, looking down at his hands, seemingly filled with regret and self-reproach. But the next instant, he suddenly lifted his head, his gaze sharp as he looked at everyone, his tone resolute: "Even so, I will save one person if I can! That is the only thing I can do."
His words struck a chord, instantly igniting the emotions of everyone present. Some nodded in approval, others showed expressions of deep emotion, and a few couldn't help but applaud, cheering for his "noble cause."
At that moment, the wanderer reached into his robe and pulled out several small bottles, each filled with a Golden Viscous Liquid that shimmered brilliantly under the light. He gently placed the bottles on the table as if offering some sacred item.
"These are all I have," the wanderer said, patting the bottles with a tone of helplessness and reluctance. "These liquids are treasures of my family, and their supply is limited; we can no longer produce more. Today, I am willing to offer these only to those who truly need them..."
He paused, surveying the crowd, nodding firmly as he spoke with generous passion: "This is my small sacrifice, a way to continue the spirit of my ancestors! If anyone needs it, please feel free to speak up!"
His words were powerful and heartfelt, causing those around him to erupt with excitement.
"This is a true life-saving elixir!"
"He’s willing to sell it to us; he truly has a Bodhisattva Heart!"
"This liquid can save lives on the battlefield; its value is immeasurable!"
The crowd surged toward the table, eagerly inquiring about prices; some even pulled out gold notes, requesting priority in purchasing. The wanderer faced this scene with a profound yet indifferent expression, as if he cared little for wealth and simply wished to carry on his family's legacy.
In the corner, Bing Lie set down his teacup, a faint cold smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He shook his head slightly; he saw through the wanderer's carefully orchestrated "performance" but showed no intention of disrupting it. Such tricks were nothing new to him.
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