Chapter 72: THE STRIKE THAT SHOULD HAVE KILLED HIM

Chapter 72 — THE STRIKE THAT SHOULD HAVE KILLED HIM

The transport bus moved smoothly through the aerial corridor, its reinforced hull humming softly as it cut through the clouds.

Inside, the atmosphere was… relaxed.

Their guard was down.

Chen Wulian leaned back in his seat, arms folded behind his head, boots propped shamelessly on the opposite bench.

“I’m telling you,” he said lazily, “Vermilion Academy better have good food. If they don’t, Stage Three is already lost.”

Qin Shuo didn’t look up from the tablet in his hands.

“You worry about strange things.”

“Morale is important,” Chen replied seriously. “A hungry warrior is a reckless warrior.”

Bai Qianlan sat by the window, watching the sky slide past in streaks of pale blue and white. Her reflection stared back at her, calm and composed, illusions suppressed to a whisper. Yet her fingers tapped lightly against her sleeve—slow, rhythmic.

Ling Yifan sat opposite her, spear resting between his knees, posture straight. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was controlled, attentive.

Ouyang Xue’er sat near the rear, arms folded, gaze drifting occasionally toward one specific seat.

Long Hao.

He sat slightly apart from the others, as usual. One hand rested on his knee, the other loosely against the armrest. His expression was neutral, eyes half-lidded as if he were resting.

Inside his chest—

Silence.

No warnings.

No alarms.

Even Longyu was quiet.

That alone should have been enough.

The attack did not begin with sound.

It began with absence.

The hum of the bus faltered.

Just for a heartbeat.

Then—

The world fractured.

The reinforced glass along the left side of the bus exploded inward, not shattered by force but cut—a razor-thin spatial slice tearing through layers of protective arrays as if they were paper.

Chen didn’t even have time to swear.

Ling Yifan’s eyes snapped open.

“DEFENSE—!”

Too late.

A shadow phased through the rupture, body twisting midair, blade already descending toward Long Hao’s throat.

No hesitation.

No flourish.

A killing strike meant to end everything in one motion.

Not fast enough.

He turned sharply, body twisting out of the seat as the blade grazed past where his neck had been—

Another strike came from below.

A second assassin burst up through the bus floor, spear of condensed spiritual force driving upward with lethal precision.

Long Hao felt it.

The intent.

Pure.

Professional.

This was not a test.

This was an execution.

He crossed his arms instinctively—

IMPACT.

The spear punched through his guard, shattered his internal circulation array, and drove straight into his chest.

Blood sprayed.

Ouyang Xue’er screamed.

“LONG HAO—!”

“FORMATION!” Qin Shuo roared.

Chen lunged forward, body slamming into the first assassin midair, both crashing into the opposite wall. He took a blade across the shoulder and didn’t even slow down.

Bai Qianlan’s illusions erupted instantly, space folding into overlapping false realities, her voice sharp and controlled.

“FOUR HOSTILES—NO, FIVE—!”

Ling Yifan moved.

One step.

One thrust.

His spear intercepted a third assassin who had been lining up another strike on Long Hao’s collapsing form.

Metal screamed.

The assassin recoiled, boots skidding across the floor as Ling Yifan advanced without mercy.

Ouyang Xue’er dropped beside Long Hao, hands glowing with icy-blue light as she pressed them against his chest.

“DON’T YOU DARE—DON’T YOU DARE—”

Her voice shook.

Blood soaked her sleeves.

The bus lurched violently as its automated defenses activated, spiritual cannons powering up—

Too slow.

The ceiling above them folded.

Not shattered.

Folded inward like cloth.

A figure dropped through the distortion, landing lightly amidst chaos.

Mei Ying.

Her eyes were cold.

Sharp.

Angry.

“Professional infiltration,” she said flatly. “Multiple vectors. No hesitation.”

She moved.

No wasted motion.

Her blade flashed once—

The leg of the nearest assassin severed at the knee.

He screamed.

She didn’t look at him.

A second assassin tried to retreat.

Mei pivoted, palm striking forward.

A compressed burst of force crushed his chest cavity inward.

He hit the floor.

Didn’t move again.

Silence rippled outward for half a second.

Mei exhaled sharply.

“…Damn it.”

She had wanted him alive.

The remaining attackers did not hesitate.

Smoke pellets detonated simultaneously, spatial distortions flaring as emergency escape techniques activated.

Ling Yifan stabbed through one cloud—

Nothing.

Chen tried to pursue—

Qin Shuo grabbed his arm.

“DON’T.”

The bus rocked violently as the attackers vanished, leaving behind blood, shattered arrays, and one corpse cooling on the floor.

The silence afterward was deafening.

Ouyang Xue’er’s hands trembled as she tried to stabilize his circulation.

His breathing was shallow.

Erratic.

Blood continued to seep between her fingers.

“This isn’t working,” she whispered, panic seeping through her controlled tone. “His internal pathways—his core—”

Mei knelt beside them instantly.

“Move,” she ordered.

Ouyang didn’t argue.

Ying’s hands glowed faintly as she pressed them against Long Hao’s sternum, expression darkening.

“…This strike was meant to rupture his foundation,” she said quietly.

Chen clenched his fists.

“They tried to kill him.”

“Yes,” Ying replied. “And they nearly succeeded.”

Her gaze lifted to the team.

“These weren’t academy assassins.”

“These were guild professionals.”

Her jaw tightened.

“Top-tier. The kind that don’t miss.”

The bus veered sharply, abandoning its original route as emergency protocols activated.

A calm automated voice echoed through the cabin.

“ROUTING TO NEAREST AZURE DRAGON AFFILIATED RECOVERY CENTER. ETA: TWENTY-THREE MINUTES.”

Ouyang Xue’er didn’t hear it.

She was staring at Long Hao’s face.

Too pale.

Too still.

“…He can’t die,” she whispered.

Her voice broke.

“He can’t.”

Ling Yifan stood rigidly nearby, spear clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened.

Bai Qianlan swallowed hard, illusions retracting completely as she focused solely on reality.

Qin Shuo began rapidly adjusting internal defensive formations around Long Hao’s body, sweat beading on his brow.

Chen stood at the shattered window, staring into the clouds.

“…This wasn’t cleanup,” he said hoarsely.

Mei Ying glanced at him.

“No,” she agreed.

“This was an erasure attempt.”

The emergency recovery facility rose from the clouds like a floating fortress, Azure Dragon insignia blazing as the bus docked.

Medical teams were already moving before the doors fully opened.

Long Hao was transferred immediately into a recovery chamber, layers of healing arrays activating as his body was submerged in restorative fluid.

Ouyang Xue’er refused to leave.

She stood at the glass, hands pressed against it, eyes red.

“I’m staying,” she said.

No one argued.

Mei ying turned to the others.

“You’ll rotate guard duty,” she ordered. “No gaps. No assumptions.”

Ling Yifan nodded immediately. “I’ll take first watch.”

“So will I,” Bai said quietly.

Chen cracked his neck. “Yeah. Same.”

Qin Shuo adjusted his glasses.

“I’ll reinforce the perimeter formations.”

Ying’s gaze hardened.

“This attack was deliberate,” she said. “Targeted. Personal.”

She looked at the unconscious figure in the chamber.

“Someone decided Long Hao needed to disappear.”

Hours passed.

The recovery chamber hummed steadily.

Long Hao’s vitals stabilized—but only barely.

Ouyang Xue’er didn’t move.

Not once.

When Ling Yifan finally spoke, his voice was low.

“…When he wakes up,” he said, “things won’t be the same.”

Ying’s eyes narrowed.

“No,” she agreed.

“And whoever ordered this…”

Her gaze drifted toward the darkness beyond the facility’s shields.

“…has just declared open war.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Intentional.

And far from over.

[Chapter ENDS]

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