Chapter 42: A Fight to the Death

Chapter 42: A Fight to the Death

Zhang Sanlu acted without hesitation. He raised the skull-headed hammer high and brought it down fiercely toward the old crone. Her body twisted with ghostly agility, slipping past his side. As she brushed by, she suddenly lifted her head, eyes cloudy yet gleaming with a wicked light, as if intent on devouring him whole.

Zhang Sanlu reversed his grip in a swift arc, the hammer whistling with lethal intent as he struck at her flank. But the old crone was preternaturally swift; with a sidestep, she dodged once more. At that moment, “Single-Eyed Five” slithered up from behind her like a spectral serpent, winding up her legs with chilling speed.

The old crone’s body froze, as if seized by some unseen force. A hound latched onto her leg, while the hammer’s haft grazed her, making her stagger and reveal an opening.

Zhang Sanlu seized the chance and swung the hammer again, this time aiming for her exposed chest.

A sickening crack split the air—but it wasn’t the sound of hammer meeting flesh. In that instant, something seemed to rupture outward from the old crone’s ribs. Her bones burst open like a blossoming flower, spraying Zhang Sanlu’s face with fresh blood.

His vision blurred, but he felt the hammer strike something, and a surge of hope ignited within him.

Suddenly, the Guo family disciples nearby cried out in horror.

“A hand just burst from her waist!”

“What kind of monster is this?”

A withered hand, ghastly fast, had shot out from her shattered ribs and gripped the hammer’s handle. The two were instantly locked in a struggle, strength clashing along the haft with a metallic clamor.

With a shriek, the old crone’s other two hands shot forward like blades, plunging into Zhang Sanlu’s chest.

He felt a searing, gut-wrenching pain in his abdomen. With a desperate kick, he flung himself backward, tumbling away. Something dropped heavily onto his foot. Looking down, he saw his own intestines spilling from the wound, slick and glistening, pooling at his feet and staining his robe crimson.

A guttural cackle burst from the old crone. One hand clutched a piece of flesh torn from her own body, another wrenched the hound’s head clean from its body, twisting her face into a grotesque mask. In a flash, she dodged a hail of arrows shot her way.

“Daoist, run for it! This damned hag is a monster—no point in us all dying here!” Zheng Ji shouted.

Old Yao said nothing. He drew his bow, nocking two arrows at once and pulling the string taut as a full moon, aiming at the crone as she darted left and right, showing no sign of retreat.

His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, tracked her every move.

“Take this—!”

The bow sang, arrows streaking like meteors. One shot grazed her left cheek, slicing a bloody line along her face before vanishing into the darkness. The second arrow followed in rapid succession, but she twisted her head and it flashed past her right side.

The crone’s savage grin widened as she lunged for Old Yao, claws slashing at his face.

But in that instant, she was yanked back, several ropes pulling her off balance and dragging her to the ground.

Old Yao had tied rope to the arrows’ ends, knotting them behind—like casting a net. If the arrows struck, all the better; if not, the net would ensnare her!

“Well done!” Zhang Sanlu rejoiced. He bit down on the hammer’s handle, forced his innards back into the wound, cinched his robe tightly around his waist, and, wild-eyed and blood-soaked, charged forward with a crazed roar.

His appearance startled both Old Yao and Zheng Ji. Even the crone, dragged by the net, showed a flicker of terror.

Gritting his teeth against the agony, Zhang Sanlu brought the hammer down on her back with all his remaining strength.

With a dull thud, she collapsed forward, blood spraying from her mouth like a fountain.

Weakened by her wounds, the crone fell to the ground. Zhang Sanlu kicked her over, pinning her, and raised his hammer to deliver the final blow.

But suddenly, the crone surged up from the ground, shredding the ropes with her hands, and hurled herself at Zhang Sanlu like a madwoman.

He couldn’t dodge—she knocked him to the earth, sending him rolling.

Before she could escape, Zheng Ji lunged from the side and grabbed the ropes, tripping her up. The crone tumbled awkwardly across the ground.

She propped herself up with her arms, her face contorted with hatred, unwillingness, and regret, eyes blazing with venom as she glared at the survivors. Though she was some distance away, every man present felt the weight of her malice as if it were tangible.

She opened her mouth to scream, but only then did they see—her tongue was severed at the root, leaving only a bare stump.

“You old witch, still acting tough at death’s door,” Guo Qi taunted, drawing his bow and letting the string creak menacingly, though he dared not approach.

“Wait!” Zhang Sanlu suddenly cried. Something felt wrong. An inexplicable uncertainty gnawed at him—his heart raced, his palms sweated, and intuition screamed that things were not as they seemed. His mind tangled with confusion, as if a knot refused to loosen. Was his illness returning?

“Loose!” Guo Qi didn’t heed Zhang Sanlu’s warning. He released an arrow that struck the crone’s chest. The skeletal hand protruding from her ribs only managed to nudge the arrow aside before it was pierced through, the shaft sinking deep into her chest.

Zhang Sanlu looked about wildly, searching for the source of his dread. Was it the cavern littered with corpses? The grotesque Thousand-Armed Bodhisattva effigy? Or those strange, unsettling details? His instincts whispered that these clues were connected, though he could not yet piece them together.

One of the Guo clan’s youths leaped forward, axe gleaming coldly as he brought it down with all his might on the crone’s face.

A piercing, mournful wail rang out. Half her face was hewn off, blood gushing in torrents, drenching her clothes and splattering the attacker. The severed flesh rolled across the ground before coming to rest among the bones, blending into the darkness of death.

Arrows and axes rained down like a storm, tearing the crone’s body apart. Yet even in her final moments, she flailed her claws, desperate to snatch at any living creature that dared approach.