Chapter Sixty-Five: Stubborn Resistance

On the deck, the captives erupted in cheers.

The slaves, who had been panic-stricken and poised to flee to the second level of the ship’s hold, also stopped in their tracks and gathered behind Ye Mo.

They had all witnessed Ye Mo smash through the unyielding spiritwood bars of the prison with a single punch, breaking free—a feat that only cultivators were capable of. Naturally, their confidence in Ye Mo was unwavering.

Gao Jian, Mo Ling, Lin Zhi, and other martial artists circled closely around him.

“An immortal?”

The pirates, startled by the captives’ cheers, hesitated and no longer dared to press forward. Their questioning gazes turned to Ye Mo, but no matter how they looked at this young man in tattered clothes and a calm, faint smile, he hardly resembled the legendary cultivators.

These pirates had visited the Immortal Village of the Eastern Sea before, trading in martial artists, and had seen their share of immortals. Every one of those cultivators had an air of utter arrogance, never deigning to spare ordinary warriors a glance.

No matter how they tried, they simply could not connect this unremarkable, streetwise youth before them with the immortals they had encountered in the village.

However, Ye Mo had wounded seven or eight pirates with mere fragments of spiritwood the moment he appeared. This display of strength filled them with dread. Even if he was not a cultivator, he was at least a peerless expert.

“Captain, what do we do now?”

“He seems to be a cultivator. Should we try our luck?”

The pirates looked back toward Captain Feng, their faces filled with uncertainty and fear.

On this vast Eastern Sea, there were few warriors bold enough to raise blade or weapon against a cultivator.

Even the cold, scarred face of Feng Xionglang twitched uncontrollably.

A cultivator?

His heart faltered. If this truly was a cultivator, he would not be easy prey.

Feng Xionglang gave a subtle signal to a nearby pirate captain—a hulking brute with a massive battle-axe strapped to his back—telling him to test Ye Mo’s true strength, to see if he was indeed a cultivator.

The burly pirate instantly understood, bursting into laughter. “Hah! He dares to call himself a cultivator? Well, your grandpa here would like to see what sets these so-called immortals apart from the rest of us!”

With that, he brandished his huge axe and charged at Ye Mo, the deck trembling with each thunderous stride.

Ye Mo stood rooted, regarding the giant coldly, feeling the subtle tremors underfoot.

His target was Captain Feng. That a mere pirate captain dared to challenge him was laughable.

“Hmph! Still acting so high and mighty? Once I cleave you in two, let’s see if you can keep your composure!”

The burly pirate roared in anger.

He was an eighth-level body refiner, born with prodigious strength—his axe could strike with a force of more than three hundred jin, the mightiest among the ship’s pirate captains.

He barreled toward Ye Mo, less than three meters away now, and his great axe whistled down.

“Wild Axe Rend!”

A flash of white light arced from the blade, slicing toward Ye Mo.

“Foolish.”

Ye Mo snorted. When the axe was less than a foot from his shoulder, he slipped to the left and, with uncanny speed, swung his palm at the pirate’s chest.

The pirate’s blow missed, and before he could regain his footing, a tremendous force slammed into his chest.

With a crash, his vision blurred as he was hurled backwards by an irresistible might, flying for more than twenty meters before crashing to the deck, dead before he hit the ground, blood spurting from his lips.

The pirates all sucked in a sharp breath.

That speed and power would dazzle even late-stage martial masters. With a single blow, he had killed the mightiest among the pirate captains.

“Such speed and strength—beyond even ninth-level body refiners... Could he truly be a cultivator? But now, blood has been shed; there’s no escape. On this ship, it’s kill or be killed.”

“Earth Slave Guards, attack! Kill him!”

Feng Xionglang, alarmed, even in his golden armor and wielding his spirit sword, still felt a chill facing a true cultivator.

“Yes, sir!”

The five Earth Slave Guards sprang up, drawing swords and knives, charging at Ye Mo.

Together, their blades and swords swept out, sword energy surging with a might rivaling that of a peerless master, terrifying the captives—these were the same five who had slaughtered so many of their number.

Ye Mo’s figure blurred.

Those on deck saw only a flicker; then a rapid series of thuds rang out.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Five sharp, heavy impacts—each guard spat blood, careening backward like kites with snapped strings, collapsing on the deck, unable to rise.

Though strong, they were riddled with openings in Ye Mo’s eyes.

From the moment Ye Mo struck to when the five guards were flung aside, it was barely the blink of an eye—the captives and pirates alike hadn’t even seen what happened before the fight was over.

“Your turn.”

Having dispatched the five guards in a flash, Ye Mo turned to Feng Xionglang, his voice cold as ice.

Those three words nearly shattered Feng Xionglang’s nerves.

He desperately wanted to jump overboard, but the swarms of sea blade-fish circling below quashed that idea instantly. He still had his spirit sword; defeat wasn’t certain.

“Impossible! He’s just freakishly strong, playing tricks. He’s no cultivator. Kill him! All of you, attack! If you value your lives, fight!”

Feng Xionglang roared at the pirates.

“Kill!”

Seventy or eighty pirates looked at each other, but at the captain’s furious bellow, finally found their courage, raising blades and shields of snake-scale armor as they charged at Ye Mo.

Feng Xionglang hid behind them, his face dark as thunder.

“Brothers, now’s our chance! Life or death, this is it! If you don’t want to end up slaves in the mines, follow the immortal master and kill these pirates!”

Seeing the turn of events, Gao Jian shouted to rally the captives.

They had nearly given in to despair, but Ye Mo’s arrival reignited their hope.

Both sides surged forward, and a chaotic melee erupted on the deck.

Ye Mo’s primordial spirit sent out a pulse of divine sense, activating the sigil of Water Arrow Art. In his palm, a crystal-clear, foot-long water arrow rapidly coalesced, exuding a chilling aura.

“What’s that? Could it be the legendary immortal art?”

“Immortal art! Yes, that’s immortal magic!”

Even cultivators on deck looked back in astonishment.

Other feats of strength could be attributed to natural talent, but this was unmistakable—only a true immortal could wield such arts.

“Damn it, it really is immortal magic!”

For the first time, terror twisted across Feng Xionglang’s face.

He had traveled between the Eastern Sea and the Nine Provinces for years and had seen his share of immortals.

In front of warriors like him, those immortals always carried themselves as if they alone reigned supreme beneath the heavens. Whenever he visited the Immortal Village, he treated every cultivator with utmost fear and reverence, never daring to offend.

But now he realized he had imprisoned a real cultivator, locked him in the hold, even plotted to sell him to the mine lords of the village.

This was the greatest taboo—using force against an immortal. If word got out, there would be nowhere in the Eastern Sea for him to hide. Cultivators were exalted above all; warriors could never be allowed to offend them.

At this thought, Feng Xionglang quailed.

How he longed, in this moment, to kneel on the spot and beg Immortal Master Ye for mercy, to plead for his life.

But was that possible?

The furious captives wished to tear him apart, drink his blood; they would never let him go.

“No, I must slaughter every last captive, lest my crime of imprisoning an immortal ever be revealed.”

“Once I reach the Immortal Village, I’ll sell this spirit sword and demon crab armor, trade them for essence pills, and forge my own primordial spirit—become a cultivator myself. Then, even if others learn I killed a cultivator, it won’t matter. Offending an immortal is forbidden, but strife between cultivators is no concern of anyone’s.”

Feng Xionglang steeled his resolve.

He had been afraid at first when he saw the water arrow, but then remembered he wore a cultivator’s artifact—the golden demon crab armor. No matter how fierce this water arrow was, could it pierce armor made for immortals?

A crystal water arrow flashed across the air, streaking toward Captain Feng six or seven yards away as the crowd gasped.

“Hah!”

Feng Xionglang wielded his spirit sword, conjuring two sword shadows to strike the arrow.

But under Ye Mo’s control, the water arrow slipped past the sword, slamming into Feng Xionglang’s chest.

He coughed blood and staggered back.

In disbelief, he looked down.

The arrow had struck the demon crab armor, denting it but not piercing through; yet the force contained within was enough to inflict grave internal injuries.

In the sunlight, the water droplets on his chest glimmered with blood—a chilling sight.

Still gripping his spirit sword, Feng Xionglang collapsed to one knee, terror filling his eyes as a deathly cold swept over him.

He coughed up blood three more times, his pupils dilating, then slowly crumpled to the deck, the boards around him instantly awash in red—a ghastly, unbearable sight.

On deck, there was a deathly silence.

Both pirates and captives ceased their fighting, stunned.

The strongest man on the pirate ship, Feng Xionglang, had been slain by Ye Mo’s Water Arrow Art in a single strike.

“Spare us, immortal master!”

“We surrender!”

With their leader dead, the pirates were lost. In terror, they dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, not daring to resist.

The deck was littered with corpses of both captives and pirates, bodies sprawled in every direction.

Under the blazing sun, the overwhelming stench of blood filled both deck and cabin.

Both sides now looked upon Ye Mo with fear, avoiding his gaze, not daring to meet his eyes.