Chapter 336 — Whose Kill

CHAPTER 336

Whose Kill

The Jade-Screen Serpent burst from its den, scattering stone into the green pool.

One moment there was a hollow of black stone, a still green pool and nine pale petals floating above a mound in the middle. The next, a scaled head the size of a cart rose from behind the mound, and a broad hood of jade plates opened around it.

“Hold the line!” Yuan Kuang shouted. “Martial Palace, formation!”

Three teams stood in a ragged half circle around the hollow. Twenty-one cultivators, and every one of them had stopped breathing.

On the rim above them, Zhu Liu crouched with his receipt book open on one knee. His hands shook, but his brush did not. Behind the boundary pine, a long way off, a familiar voice was shouting advice that nobody could hear.

Shi Feng drew his Sword.

“Senior Brother Shi,” Zhu Liu called down. “I'll record the strikes!”

“Record all of them,” Shi Feng said.

The serpent lunged at the Valley line. Ling Qingzhu met it with a single white sword stroke that rang off the hood like a bell. Bai Chenxi's frost cut a long pale line across its neck. Su Wanning screamed, which was her contribution, and tossed a net of vines that held for one heartbeat.

Shi Feng slid in on the Drifting Ash Step, low and quiet, under the swing of the tail. The embers of Ember Rain scattered from his blade and crawled into the seams between the plates. He cut along one seam, deep, and black blood sprayed.

The serpent shrieked and reared.

“First blood!” a Martial Palace disciple yelled. “Martial Palace draws first blood!”

A crimson spear stabbed into the exact spot Shi Feng had just opened, and drew another spurt of black.

“Wound confirmed!” Yuan Kuang cried. “Mark it, Valley! Our spear!”

Shi Feng didn't reply. He ducked under a second lunge, rolled and cut at the base of the hood. The plates rang. Behind him, a Martial Palace sword landed on the cut a breath later and scraped it wider.

“Our blade!” a second disciple called.

“Second wound!”

“Zhu Liu!” Shi Feng called, ducking a snap of the jaws.

“Seven strikes by Artificer Hall,” Zhu Liu shouted, scribbling. “Four claimed by Martial Palace in the same spot! Six more claimed on the same spot!”

“Louder,” Shi Feng said.

“Ten claimed!” Zhu Liu shouted, raising his voice above the fighting.

The Valley team saw it now. Bai Chenxi's sword paused in the air. Su Wanning's jaw dropped. The Martial Palace disciples waited for Shi Feng to open a wound, then stabbed into it and shouted their own sect’s name. They wanted the witnesses to remember their attacks instead of his.

“Stealing,” Su Wanning gasped. “They're stealing it!”

“Everything counts as a blow if it lands,” Yuan Kuang said, and laughed. “The truce says the killing blow, Valley. One more good strike and the serpent is dead. We'll see whose name the witnesses write.”

The serpent screamed again. It was hurt in a dozen places, and its hood had cracked at the base. Shi Feng saw its eyes roll toward the den mouth.

It was going to retreat. A wounded mother always went back to her nest.

“Ling Qingzhu,” Shi Feng said.

“I see it,” Ling Qingzhu said. She didn't look at him. “Left side.”

The Valley and Shi Feng pressed from the left. The Martial Palace team pressed from the right and from behind. For a moment the serpent was trapped between them, and Yuan Kuang's spear came up.

The serpent flung its tail sideways. It caught the front rank of Martial Palace and swept four disciples into the pool. Then it whipped round, hissed once at the whole hollow, and slid back behind the mound with a long wet rattle of scales.

The den closed around it. Silence returned. The nine petals bobbed gently on the water.

“Hmph,” Yuan Kuang said, dripping on one side. “It bled out, or near enough. We'll finish it at dawn. The lotus is ours. Eleven strikes, Valley. You saw them.”

“We saw something,” Bai Chenxi said coldly.

“Zhu Liu,” Shi Feng said. “Read it out.”

Zhu Liu stood on the rim and cleared his throat.

“Strikes by Artificer Hall, twelve,” Zhu Liu read. “Strikes by Hundred Flower Valley, four. Strikes by Martial Palace, nineteen. Of those nineteen, fourteen landed on wounds already open, and five missed.”

The Martial Palace team scowled. A few Valley disciples made small sounds of satisfaction.

“Your clerk can read,” Yuan Kuang said. “It changes nothing. We'll finish the serpent at dawn, and the lotus belongs to the one who does.”

“No,” Shi Feng said.

Everyone looked at him. He sheathed the Sword on his back with a quiet scrape.

“This kill is mine,” Shi Feng said.

“Yours?” Yuan Kuang said. “You couldn't even finish it!”

“I didn’t say I’d finished it,” Shi Feng replied. “I said it’s mine.”

“Arrogant! Not knowing the height of heaven or the depth of the earth!” a Martial Palace disciple cried.

“Cripple's talk,” someone muttered. “The ankle's still bound.”

“He said it flat,” a Valley girl whispered. “Like he’s certain he’ll get it.”

“He took every wound for us,” Lin Yue whispered back. “Did you see? He went in first every time.”

“And he won't let them take it…”

“…”

Ling Qingzhu watched his bound ankle, worried by the claim he’d made. When he passed on his way to the rim, she turned aside without asking him to explain it.

Walking back, Shi Feng thought, They think I went first to protect them. I need the serpent myself. Yuan Kuang wasn’t taking the kill after letting him do the dangerous work. Behind him, in the boundary pine, Lin Langtian was shouting something about billing them for the strikes.

At the camp rope, Sima Lan was waiting with the ledger and a cup of hot water. Shi Feng took it, drank, and set the cup down.

“Zhu Liu,” Shi Feng said.

“Senior Brother Shi?” Zhu Liu answered, still catching his breath.

“Which tent is Yuan Kuang’s?” Shi Feng asked, looking across the camp.

“The tall one with the fist flag,” Zhu Liu replied, surprised. “Why?”

“Receipts,” Shi Feng said.