# 235
Chapter 235 – The Devout Lambs
Inside the cabin.
A howling gale poured into the cockpit. With one pilot gone and the other mentally controlled, the remaining aviator couldn’t steer properly in the wind; the whole airframe lurched.
An Qingyu’s brows knit slightly. His frost long-sword swept aside two Ten-Slice Ghost Children. He retreated to the shattered windshield, pressed his palm to the jagged rim, and ice sealed the gap. The roaring wind finally died.
Whoosh—!
In that instant three more Ten-Slice Ghost Children pounced. Grinning hideously, they drove their short blades into him again and again!
Blood spattered his glasses, yet the pale face showed no pain—only growing excitement. His frost sword flashed like lightning, shearing off a ghost-child’s head.
“Neck and tailbone are the weak points…” The blood-stained lenses reflected white light; a trace of ash-gray flashed across his eyes as he instantly saw through them.
Sword-light whirled, cold air billowed. His black trench coat was now a tattered red, yet his movements never slowed—an inexhaustible killing machine.
From the corner of his eye he glanced at the time.
03:32.
The pub owner was still fighting Lin Qiye outside the plane; barring accidents, the ritual should be unable to continue.
No one noticed the thumb-sized bug inside the crystal ball rolled into the cockpit corner beginning to emit a faint red glow…
Meanwhile, first class.
The passengers An Qingyu had knocked out slowly opened their eyes. Like automatons they rose and walked toward one wall.
The same dim red light shone in their gazes.
A young man stopped at the wall and woodenly lifted his hands; the others seized his limbs and hoisted him until his feet left the floor.
A woman went to the crew station, took a small knife from a drawer, returned, knelt, and began slicing the youth’s fingers bit by bit…
Pinned to the wall, the young man stared blankly ahead—a devout lamb.
No screams, no whimpers, no shrieks; first class lay in dead silence.
…
Ground level.
A black van screeched to a halt at the gated community. Hongying hopped lightly from the driver’s seat while Wu Xiangnan and Si Xiaonan staggered forward looking half-dead.
Wu Xiangnan glanced at the plane circling low, checked the time, and said:
“3:33—the ritual’s start time.”
Hongying sighed. “No idea how Qiye’s doing.”
“He’s fine; he’s stalling the pub owner,” Leng Xuan’s voice came through the earpiece.
Hongying blinked. “How do you know?”
On the rooftop Leng Xuan lowered his binoculars. “Because they’re fighting on the plane.”
“I know they’re on the plane.”
“…On the plane.”
The three froze, then jerked their heads up. The low-flying aircraft roared overhead, and atop its roof two figures duelled in the wind.
Hongying’s jaw dropped, eyes wide.
“Holy crap… that’s insane!”
…
Beneath the pitch-black sky, two silhouettes stood on the aircraft’s roof. Below, the city’s lights glittered like a neon beast crouched on the earth; the engine’s drone was a titan’s roar.
Gale winds snapped their dark-red cloaks. Lin Qiye gripped twin straight blades dripping blood; with a casual flick, crimson droplets were flung into the wind and fell toward the silent metropolis.
Opposite him, the gash across the pub owner’s neck healed at speed.
This was the sixth decapitation Lin Qiye had delivered; the man had already felt his head parted from his body five times. Though usually unflappable, his face was now deathly pale, his eyes brimming with terror.
Beheaded six times by the same youth—the boy’s calm visage had become his nightmare.
“Damn it… damn it!!” Seeing Lin Qiye step forward, the owner instinctively retreated, fury and dread mingled, raised his pistol and fired again.
He no longer dared close-quarters combat. However elusive his [Ghost Silk] and however proud he was of his melee skill, before Lin Qiye it was a joke.
Click—!
No bullet left the barrel; the gun jammed with a dry clack.
Lin Qiye’s eyes narrowed; the darkness around him thickened. In an instant the pistol disassembled itself, parts scattering as if by invisible, lightning-fast hands.
Once inside the range of his Utmost Dark God’s Ruins, any firearm was paper to him.
“Shit!” The owner cursed and hurled the grip away.
Lin Qiye shook his head inwardly.
In terms of mental strength the man was River-realm, but in truth he was only a civilian who’d accidentally awakened a Forbidden Ruins—a fish that had slipped the net. Schemes and tricks, sure; actual combat skill and mindset were light-years below a real River-realm.
Without [Ghost Silk] he’d be nothing but an Infinity-regenerating punching bag. With it, he barely qualified as dangerous—yet those invisible threads posed zero threat to Lin Qiye.
Thus, a full realm lower, Lin Qiye still beat him senseless.
Beating was one thing; killing quite another.
Under the owner’s horrified stare, Lin Qiye sheathed the left-hand Straight Blade, pressed the air, and a brilliant summoning array flared.
When the light faded a small mummy stood before him; it nearly blew off the aircraft in the wind until Lin Qiye caught it.
Seeing the dizzying height, the little mummy trembled, scrambled onto Lin Qiye’s back, and locked its arms around his neck, clinging for dear life.
Lin Qiye gave a wry smile, patted its head, then turned to the pub owner, his grin fading.
“Tell me… how many kilos of explosives would it take to blow you until not even ash remains?”