Chapter One, Two, and Three: The Japanese, damn it.

Chapter 123: The Japanese

"I am curious about the purpose of your visit here, though this is hardly the time or place to dwell on such matters. Perhaps it would be better to simply kill you all; that way, whatever your goal may be, it will never be accomplished. Hehe!" The man in white spoke with indifference, yet a subtle, overbearing aura radiated from him.

"&*#@!%... @#￥%&!..."

A stream of incomprehensible gibberish erupted from the mouth of one of the ninjas. Suddenly, three cold blades lunged toward the man in white. Facing such an onslaught, he smiled faintly and took a swift step back, letting the blades graze his chest.

The first strike failed, and the three ninjas quickly retreated. However, they had severely underestimated the speed of the man's blade. The moment they stepped back, he brought his machete down from above. One of the ninjas saw a flash of light, and his arm was nearly severed from his body.

Yet, the caliber of these three ninjas was not to be underestimated; they did not let out a single muffled groan after being struck, nor did they even glance at the wound. Seeing their resolve, the man in white smiled and remarked, "Not bad, but you are too slow." With a sudden movement, he utilized the flash of lightning to charge directly in front of one of the ninjas. As his hand rose and fell, the ninja's head was sent flying into the air.

"Baka!" Seeing his companion die like that, the ninja could not help but curse. The man in white, however, understood the word. "Kyu-ga! Ju-ga!" he teased mockingly, then pushed off the ground and retreated rapidly.

No sooner had the man in white vanished from his spot than a sword appeared exactly where he had been. Had he been a second slower, he surely would have been skewered like a piece of candy. "Crack!" Thunder shook the forest, and a large tree nearby burst into flames, illuminating the dark night.

Simultaneously, the man in white spun his machete and lunged at a spot behind him. "Swoosh!" A ninja, clutching his abdomen, was forced into view, his eyes filled with disbelief.

"Mere parlor tricks, daring to show off in front of me!" The man in white wore an air of supreme arrogance, his cold gaze sweeping over the remaining three ninjas. One of them, who had just emerged, was dressed entirely in red. Her figure, however, revealed her to be a woman, and a damn fine one at that.

"Oh ho, beauty, why not reveal your face? If you're decent enough to look at, I might make an exception and spare your life. How does that sound?" If Song Nianqiang were here, he would surely think the man in white and Lin Dapao were cut from the same cloth; their roguish temperaments were far too similar.

"Hehe, little brother, aren't you afraid of dying under my pomegranate skirt?" A seductive voice rang out. The man in white was genuinely surprised; this Japanese woman spoke such fluent Celestial Chinese. He wondered if she spoke Chinese or Japanese when moaning in bed.

"Since you have that concern, perhaps killing you first and then violating you would be a fine idea!" As he spoke, he moved again. The rain was heavy, obscuring vision, and his movement was so sudden that by the time the ninjas reacted, his cold blade was already upon them.

"&%%(*%&@￥"

Another string of unintelligible words followed. The woman in red leaped high into the air, her katana descending toward the man's head. Ignoring her entirely, he charged straight at the two other ninjas. They were no slouches; as top-tier ninjas, their reactions were swift. One lunged with his blade, while the other blocked horizontally.

But a strange scene unfolded: the man in white was not targeting them at all. He was so fast that the ninjas only saw a blur as he passed between them. Then, he came to a sudden halt, his blade tip pressed against the throat of a short man.

"To think your people are so poorly developed, so short! Barely reaching my crotch! Hahaha!" He burst into laughter. After he finished, he told the woman in red, word by word, "I won't kill him until you tell me your purpose here. If you don't speak, my blade might not be so obedient!"

To his surprise, the short man also burst into laughter. His Chinese was broken but understandable: "I am Yamamoto Jiro. If I fall into the hands of the White Demon today, I have no regrets!" With that, he leaned forward, and his neck was pierced through by the White Demon's machete.

"Yamamoto Jiro—truly trash, to look like this!" The White Demon felt nothing but contempt for his height. Because of his physical limitations, Yamamoto could not practice martial arts, but heaven had granted him another talent: a gift for business. In just a few years, he had developed the Yamamoto Group into one of the top financial conglomerates in Japan.

With wealth came the desire for antiques and treasures to display one's status. Yamamoto’s goal was to purchase the Soul-Eating Sword, which had become the talk of the world. Months ago, Lin Dapao had used the sword to slaughter a nest of crows just to show off, and a few individuals with a keen eye for quality had quickly spread the news. Those who leaked the location were soon slaughtered themselves, and aside from Song Nianqiang and his circle, no one knew who possessed the blade.

The ignorant Yamamoto organization, blinded by greed, had sent their top business genius to the Celestial Empire to buy the sword. They failed to realize that the Yamamoto Group was nothing compared to the top European families who hadn't dared to make a move. This was nothing short of a death wish.

Although the White Demon had made a name for himself in the underworld, he was still relatively new, and few outside of intelligence agencies knew of his existence. This also proved that the rise of the Yamamoto Group was no accident—at the very least, their intelligence network was quite capable.

One had to wonder who the previous owners of the Soul-Eating Sword were—they were not people meant to be trifled with. No one would object to calling those two "inhuman"; they were simply too monstrous. Even though the sword hadn't appeared since the ascension of that legendary hero, the Yamamoto Group was in no position to provoke its current owner. Truly, these Japanese were brainless; even pigs were more intelligent.

They had dispatched four top-tier ninjas and one in red—a formidable lineup—but they were doomed from the start. They had been tracked by the White Demon since the day they arrived. As a patriotic youth, he had been keeping a close eye on the recent territorial disputes, and he wouldn't let a group of Japanese operatives slide.

With Yamamoto Jiro dead, the remaining ninjas knew they would be forced to commit seppuku upon returning. Realizing this, the three remaining ninjas let out a roar and charged at the White Demon.

"Idiots!"

The White Demon spat the word, swung his machete, and with lightning speed, split one ninja's skull open. He then leveraged his momentum to charge forward, dodging the woman's thunderous strike.

"I told you, you are too slow. At this speed, you aren't even fit to carry my shoes! Not even qualified for that!" As he spoke, he suddenly sneezed, and his machete slipped from his hand.

"A perfect chance!" The remaining two ninjas' eyes lit up, and they sprang into the air, lunging toward the White Demon's throat and chest.