Chapter 881 Vicious to the Bone!

• The yin–yang secret arts in the island state came from the five-element yin–yang arts of the mainland. The Yamada clan practiced the fire branch of those five-element arts. But once the five-element arts spread to the island state, they mixed with local spirits, omens, and fortune-reading culture. They weren’t the pure five-element system anymore. Right now, the fire Yamada Yoji cast wasn’t normal fire. It carried a chilling, wicked bite: ghostfire. The instant Yamada Yoji flung it out, the air around them spiked by hundreds of degrees. Yet even as the heat surged, everyone shivered hard—as if winter stabbed straight into their bones. This fire could burn whatever it touched to nothing. If a person got caught in it, it wasn’t just about flames eating flesh. That evil chill would slam into their mind and soul. Dead things turned to ash; living things got their bones eaten away. Pure, vicious doom. Yamada Yoji was sure that even if Michael Shephard was tough, he couldn’t stand up to a strike he’d planned for so long. The fire would melt those tiny swords to slag. It would roast this mainland ace to death. He’d prepared this hit for ages, and it came out of nowhere—perfect. Except if Yamada Yoji had known those three little swords weren’t basic throwing irons, but earth-grade spiritual weapons—flying swords—and that the man before him was the one who’d stirred up the whole scene lately by killing the Blood Sect bishop’s top fighter, he wouldn’t have thought that way. Didn’t matter. Yamada Yoji was about to see something that shocked him. He didn’t hear a human scream under burning pain. He didn’t see flames ravaging a body. He saw three cold gleams sweep through and gather his own fire, then whip back straight at him. “What the hell?” Yamada Yoji’s eyes bulged. He looked flat-out stunned. He moved fast, dodging sideways. Still, a lick of flame clipped his body. In a blink, his clothes caught. Heat tore into his skin and muscle—searing agony—and beneath it all a chill unique to that ghostfire stabbed like ice picks. Yamada Yoji went pale as ash, swatting at the flames with his free hand. Since the fire came from him, he wrestled it down quick. Too late though. A big patch of skin on his arm had burned away. At the center, a small hole yawned open, and the white of bone showed through. “Baka!” Yamada Yoji roared, blindsided by how strong this mainland fighter was. Not only had Michael Shephard blocked his fire secret art, he’d sent it right back at him. What the hell were those three little sword-things? Michael didn’t give him time to think. “Die!” Michael Shephard snorted, cold and hard, and drove the three flying swords at Yamada Yoji again. If he hadn’t used the swords to block that fire earlier—if he’d just gone straight for the kill—Yamada Yoji never would’ve dodged. But that would’ve meant eating that nasty fire head-on, and that was a headache Michael didn’t need. “Not good!” Watching the blades close in, Yamada Yoji finally got it. Those weren’t hidden weapons. They were—the flying swords from legend. He flung out more fire, a handful of blasts rushing at Michael. Useless. Compared to the full-force strike he’d prepped, these were weak as sparks. The flying swords shredded the little fireballs and tore in toward him. The Yamada clan’s head, Yamada Yoji, a fresh entrant into the Spirit-Transforming realm—was about to die on the spot. Everyone who saw it went stiff with terror. At the village gate, Yamada Tomonobu was the same—hope snuffed out, heart gone cold.