Chapter Five: The Strange Red Name

A burst of wild, arrogant laughter echoed from the woods, and a man in a blue robe and bamboo hat stepped into view. Zhang He didn’t recognize the man himself, but the attire was unmistakable—the uniform of the disciples of the Qingcheng Sect from the Yizhou region.

The Qingcheng Sect specialized in unconventional martial arts, alchemy, and herbalism. In the game "Dynasty," it wasn’t yet considered a true, prestigious sect, but within Yizhou, it was undoubtedly the most renowned and dominant faction. The minimum requirement to join the Qingcheng Sect was to have undergone the second transformation.

In other words, even if this man before them was the lowest-ranking disciple in Qingcheng, he still wouldn't be someone the group called the Living Dead could handle. The difference between first and second transformation might seem like a mere number, but in reality, the gap was vast as the sky and earth.

Zhang He glanced at Living Dead and remarked, “I must admit, you really have some nerve to have brought such trouble upon us.”

The five members of Living Dead had no time to respond; they each raised their sabers, tense as if facing a mortal enemy. Behind the Qingcheng disciple stood another player, clad in black leather armor with an obsidian sword scabbard at his waist. The short sword remained sheathed, but the aura he exuded was quietly intimidating; in terms of bearing, this man in black seemed even more composed.

Most striking of all, the man in black was bathed in a blood-red glow, as though drenched in pig’s blood—a clear sign of a “red name,” meaning his evil value was high, and he had killed at least five other players.

“You little freaks from the Strange Sect, you won’t get away this time!” The Qingcheng disciple laughed wildly.

Living Dead drew a deep breath. “Dog Not Welcome, did you forget how your senior, Ignore Dog, died in Yellow River Town yesterday?”

Dog Not Welcome’s expression darkened, his tone bitter. “However he died yesterday, you’ll pay back tenfold today.”

Zhang He silently recalled strategy tips from the player forums. The foundational martial art for Qingcheng disciples was the Green Wasp Spikes, which relied on inner strength and bone constitution. If Dog Not Welcome was just an ordinary disciple, his physique and agility shouldn’t be remarkable; no wonder he didn’t dare challenge the five of Living Dead alone. But now, with a red name at his side, this had to be the helper he’d brought.

The man’s unusual attire gave away nothing about his background or affiliation.

While Zhang He pondered, Wooden Elephant and Water Dependent struck together, their sabers flashing as they flanked Dog Not Welcome from either side. Their coordination was flawless—a testament to their shared training.

But just as their blades closed in, a streak of green light flashed; the red-named player’s short sword slashed Water Dependent’s wrist, sending her saber clattering to the ground.

Zhang He was startled. This man’s technique was blindingly swift and forceful—unmistakably a player beyond the second transformation.

The red-named player didn’t stop there; his real target was Wooden Elephant. Using his momentum, he shoulder-checked Wooden Elephant aside before spinning and slashing at Water Dependent.

A sickening sound, and the system announced a critical hit: “-81!”

In the blink of an eye, Water Dependent’s throat spouted blood and she collapsed. It wasn’t that the red-named player was overwhelmingly powerful—just that the disparity between the two sides was too great. One stroke was all it took.

“Yi Yi!” Wooden Elephant cried in fury and grief, turning his blade on the red-named player.

“Elephant, fall back!” Living Dead, still clinging to reason, knew that rage would only get them all killed.

But Wooden Elephant was beyond hearing.

Zhang He exhaled helplessly, knowing that Living Dead and the rest were doomed to fall here today.

This red-named player was formidable. Though he hadn’t spoken a word, he’d already assessed that the first two to attack were close companions. He disarmed the woman first, feinted at the man, then struck her down, knowing that the man would surely lose his composure in anger—and anger meant fatal mistakes.

Another flash—the short sword plunged into Wooden Elephant’s shoulder: “-39!”

But Wooden Elephant’s saber swung at empty air—the red-named player shifted, kicked, and sent Wooden Elephant sprawling. Before he could rise, the short sword struck again, as precise and deadly as a serpent.

Wooden Elephant tried to parry, but the blade twisted his weapon aside, a strange force running up the saber. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it left him unable to guard his throat.

Another sickening sound: “-78!”

Like Water Dependent before him, Wooden Elephant fell, blood spraying from his neck.

All this took barely a dozen seconds. Two were already dead. Such was the nature of PK in "Dynasty"—against overwhelming odds, resistance was futile.

The remaining three instinctively retreated. Suddenly, Dog Not Welcome raised his hand, palm to the sky, releasing a black-green mist that billowed like an open umbrella. From the smoke, several dark spikes rained down on them.

This was the Green Wasp Spikes, the Qingcheng Sect’s signature move—a concealed weapon skill. Dog Not Welcome was only a disciple and hadn’t mastered it fully. If one of the senior elders, the “Four Beauties of Qingcheng,” had wielded it, the sky would be dark with poisonous smoke and dozens of spikes would fill the air.

“Careful!” Living Dead shouted. The three scattered, but the attack targeted Lark, who, having seen her two fellow disciples fall, parried desperately. Dog Not Welcome unleashed another volley, each spike aimed at her head.

Official sects always had the advantage over self-founded ones; the Green Wasp Spikes skill cooled down in just five seconds, and Dog Not Welcome’s inner strength let him fire three at a time. After three rounds, Lark was visibly struggling—she could only defend, not attack.

As her defenses faltered, the red-named player closed in, moving with a speed and fluidity that made the Strange Sect members seem hopelessly outclassed.

“Look out!” Clothesline, the nearest ally, lunged to help, but the red-named player feinted, then slashed Clothesline’s left arm.

Zhang He watched everything unfold, noting that the red-named player hadn’t even revealed his true skills; with experience alone, he dispatched Clothesline, whose fatal blow didn’t come from the short sword but from a sudden volley of Green Wasp Spikes—Dog Not Welcome’s opportunity, seeing his foe grievously wounded.

This turn of events left Lark stunned and defenseless. The next barrage of spikes was aimed at her; after a few feeble parries, the red-named player’s short sword pierced her chest, sinking in completely—a wound no healer could mend.

Staring at the blood-soaked corpses of his four companions, Living Dead staggered backward, knowing his fate was sealed. He couldn’t fathom where this black-clad red-named master had appeared from—by rights, such a figure should never be found near a novice village.

Dog Not Welcome, now in control, stepped forward, laughing. “Living Dead, how do you want to die? Name it, and I’ll see you off nice and easy.”

Living Dead’s face went pale as he saw Dog Not Welcome plant his foot on Water Dependent’s corpse, grinding it in—a humiliation too bitter to swallow.

Dog Not Welcome sneered, “Did you really think our Qingcheng Sect was easy to provoke? Hmph! With my friend here, Black Brother, you haven’t got a prayer!”

The red-named player asked coldly, “How much for killing him?”

“The usual—one tael of silver,” said Dog Not Welcome.

The red-named player eyed Living Dead. “Two taels.”

“Why?” Dog Not Welcome squawked. “Didn’t we agree? One tael per kill—and I’ve already paid you five!”

“He’s got more composure than the other four. He’s worth it. Otherwise, do it yourself.”

Living Dead felt a surge of bitter humiliation. In the eyes of his enemies, his life was valued at just two taels of silver—an insult worse than death.

“Deal!” Dog Not Welcome spat.

The moment the word left his mouth, Zhang He saw the sword flash. A cry of pain rang out—but it was not Living Dead who screamed. It was Dog Not Welcome.

The red-named player’s short sword plunged into Dog Not Welcome’s back; with a follow-up palm strike, a red aura bubbled at the point of impact.

A sharp pop, and Dog Not Welcome was hurled five meters away, lifeless. Not even Living Dead recognized this technique.

“Bastard…” Dog Not Welcome managed to utter before dying, never understanding why the red-named killer had turned on him. His world faded to black and white—ghost mode.

The red-named player strode toward Living Dead, sword in hand. Living Dead shouted defiantly, his saber blazing orange-yellow with sect energy, but the red-named player thrust forward without hesitation.

It was a battle of mutual destruction. Living Dead’s saber hacked deep into the red-named player’s shoulder—“–101!”—an impressive feat, given that his usual attack only dealt around thirty points thanks to his sect’s martial art.

But the red-named player’s sword struck Living Dead, inflicting “–42,” followed by the same red aura palm, which sent Living Dead flying with another “–75” in damage.

And so, except for the quiet observer Zhang He, Living Dead’s entire party met their end on Qingluan Peak.

The red-named player had barely spoken, but his ruthless, cold-blooded nature was unmistakable. Now, sword dripping blood, he advanced toward Zhang He.

Those lying in ghost mode all saw it—the newcomer, too, would not escape a grisly death. Yet, to everyone’s surprise, Zhang He showed neither intent to flee nor any sign of fear. He waited calmly for the red-named player to send him back to the city for free.

Living Dead couldn’t begin to guess what Zhang He relied on to remain so composed.