Chapter Fifty-Three: It Seems I’m About to Get Beaten Again

Du Fang was slightly taken aback—startled by Su Jiuming’s decisiveness. One shot, and the female technician was gone. Though she was, in truth, a Nightmare Fiend, the image she wore was unmistakably human.

“Are you thinking I’m too ruthless?” Su Jiuming seemed unbothered by Du Fang’s gaze, as if he had seen it countless times before.

“Little Du, you have to understand, she’d already died. The moment her body was completely overtaken by the Nightmare Fiend, her soul was extinguished, and her flesh became nothing more than a disguise. Her death was innocent, yes. But if we show mercy to the Nightmare Fiend, who will show mercy to the one who died? For her, death is a release.”

Su Jiuming’s voice was calm, almost indifferent.

“I dislike certain methods of the Dreamwalker Association. Sometimes, they capture Nightmare Fiends and imprison them in the Nightmare Prison, giving them a chance to cling to life in this world. I’ve always opposed this, even raised resolutions against the existence of the Nightmare Prison. Nightmare Fiends are not our kind; they deserve no mercy.”

There was a murderous undertone to Su Jiuming’s words—his hatred for Nightmare Fiends was palpable.

Du Fang could empathize with him. After all, if a Nightmare Fiend had killed Luo Luo, he too would be driven to hatred and madness.

“The higher-ups in the Dreamwalker Association think they can use Nightmare Fiends—to simulate dream disasters, extract their abilities, and so on… But they’re playing with fire. As Nightmare Prisons proliferate in cities around the world, the security risk only grows. If, one day, the prisons lose control… who can say what this world will become?”

Su Jiuming exhaled heavily.

A chill ran down Du Fang’s spine at the thought.

“Alright, don’t let my methods scare you. I’m usually very gentle, come here, let me give you a hug.” Su Jiuming’s demeanor shifted back to his usual charm, opening his arms toward Du Fang.

Du Fang just smiled and politely declined. With his wife’s hand resting on his shoulder, he wasn’t about to betray himself so easily.

He changed the subject: “Captain Zhang went after a powerful Nightmare Fiend. Should we go help?”

Su Jiuming paused, his expression growing serious.

With Captain Zhang’s infamous streak of bad luck… chasing after it alone…

Su Jiuming’s face grew grave. “Why didn’t you mention this sooner?”

…

Zhang Changlin could feel his strength ebbing away—a side effect of activating the Lionfire State. Yet his anger burned, impossible to suppress. Lately, he’d suffered too much—beaten in dream disasters, beaten by Du Fang during training in the real world… Even going for a footbath ended in a beating. It seemed his whole life was either being beaten or on the way to a beating!

Was the world out to get him? He was a powerful upper-tier Dreamwalker, bearer of Forbidden Relic-098, one of Jiangling City’s top ten exemplary Dreamwalkers! There was no way he’d let himself be beaten again!

So, when Driver Lao Chang sent him flying out of the corridor, his pride was wounded, and his authority in Du Fang’s eyes was shattered. He had to reclaim his dignity—to restore his image as a captain.

It was deep into the night, and the long streets of Jiangling were far less lively than the footbath parlor’s underground floors.

Most shops were closed, barely any cars on the roads. Driver Lao Chang, still in his bathrobe, sprinted down the street at a speed rivaling his car at full throttle—the wind whipped at him so fiercely his robe nearly flew off. He didn’t dare stop; blood streamed from one eye, and his heart pounded with fear. He was terrified that if he stopped, he’d see that little girl with the long, barbed tongue and the unspeakable dream-spirit pressure—the nightmare that now haunted his soul.

“Master, save me!” he shouted as he ran. He barely spared a thought for Zhang Changlin, who kept chasing him from behind. Surely, Zhang Changlin would give up after a while—they bore each other no real grudges.

But this time, Lao Chang was mistaken. Zhang Changlin, thoroughly provoked, had fully activated his special powers and was not letting up.

Suddenly—a whistle of air as Zhang Changlin let out a furious roar, swinging his activated broken blade. In a blink, the blade became a black line, stretching across the distance toward Lao Chang.

This danger wasn’t like the overwhelming, inescapable death he’d felt from the little girl when spying on Du Fang, but the tangible threat of Zhang Changlin’s unleashed power. There was no dodging this strike.

Lao Chang spun around, releasing his grip on his wounded eye. Scales erupted from his arms, and he slapped at the incoming Forbidden Relic-098, forced to attempt a perfect barehanded interception.

As Zhang Changlin, wreathed in wild fire, leapt forward and grasped his blade once more, its edge had already bitten deep into Lao Chang’s arms, wedged there, unable to go further.

Lao Chang had failed to catch the blade barehanded.

Zhang Changlin’s eyes, marked with phoenix-tail patterns, blazed with fire as they faced off on the deserted street.

“A Nightmare Fiend of the demon kind? From the Heaven Demon Organization?” Zhang Changlin asked, eyeing the scales on Lao Chang’s arms.

In this world, there was nothing supernatural—except in dreams. Ghosts, demons, devils, heretics, sinners… all existed in dreams. Thus, the horrors of dream disasters were not limited to ghosts; there were demons too. Nightmare Fiends were not only born of ghostly will, but also of demonic will.

Therefore, Nightmare Fiends in this world belonged to three great organizations. The first, “Yellow Spring,” was formed by ghosts possessing humans after dream disasters. The second, “Heaven Demon,” arose from demons’ will escaping dream disasters and taking over human bodies. The third kind emerged from dream disasters without ghosts or demons—only the wicked deeds of madmen. Sometimes, humans could be more terrifying than ghosts; their wicked will escaped the dream disaster, possessed humans, and became new Nightmare Fiends. These formed the organization called “New World.”

Heaven Demon, Yellow Spring, New World—these were the three largest Nightmare Fiend organizations in existence, recruiting most Nightmare Fiends and blending into human society. If not for the leaders’ fear of the Dreamwalker Association’s might, and the Association’s annual hunts to kill Nightmare Fiends hiding among humans, the world would have already descended into chaos.

“Is the Heaven Demon Organization growing restless, daring to make moves now?” Zhang Changlin’s expression was icy.

A wave of dream-spirit pressure exploded.

Zhang Changlin and Lao Chang were both blown apart, skidding far across the ground. Blood poured from Lao Chang’s empty eye socket as he raised his scaled arms, pleading, “Great Dreamwalker, let me explain! I meant no harm; I just like footbaths, that’s all… And I always pay—never freeload! I abide by the law!”

He didn’t want to fight—he wanted to find his master and seek protection.

But Zhang Changlin, blade in hand, fire shining brighter, looked every bit the hero.

“I don’t care! You hit me!” Zhang Changlin retorted coldly.

You hit me, and you think a simple apology will make it all right?

Zhang Changlin bit his thumb, smeared the blood along his blade. A shadow flickered into being, spider-like, wrapping itself around him, and his aura surged explosively.

Lao Chang nearly choked in frustration. Faced with such a stubborn fool, he was truly at a loss.

But then a spark of hope ignited in Lao Chang’s eyes. He heard the crisp tapping of a cane on the pavement.

“Master!” he shouted, elated.

Zhang Changlin’s eyes, beneath the phoenix-tail markings, swept over, and his pupils contracted sharply.

In the darkness, he saw an elegant old man approaching, leaning on a curved-handled umbrella, wearing a high hat. The world seemed to fall silent, the air itself freezing in that instant. The dream-spirit pressure behind the old man coalesced into the shape of a massive black dragon, coiled in the night, gazing down like the lord of darkness itself.

The old man raised his gold-embellished black umbrella, its tip pointing at Zhang Changlin.

“I have no wish to kill Dreamwalkers, not for now, nor do I wish to offend the Dreamwalker Association. Hand over the ‘Hand of God’ and you may leave. It’s a fair exchange—the Hand of God was mine to begin with,” the old man said politely.

But all Zhang Changlin felt was an overwhelming, suffocating pressure—this was a Nightmare Fiend with the power of a Dreamwalker capable of defending an entire city!

“Damn it…” Zhang Changlin gripped his blade, cursing under his breath. “I hate bad luck…”

A grim premonition washed over him.

It seemed… he was about to be beaten again.

PS: Please vote, recommend, and keep following the story!