章節 19: Turbulent Echoes - 2
The atmosphere in the restaurant shifted in an instant, as though a dark cloud had descended upon the once warm and inviting space. The cold seeped in from outside, more than just a bite of winter air—it was the bone-chilling cold of something darker, something sinister. The door, still hanging in splinters from where it had been kicked open, let in the freezing wind, which howled like the distant cry of some forsaken beast. Snowflakes drifted inside, carried on the bitter gusts, as if even nature itself could not ignore the presence of evil. The frost outside clung to everything, turning the world into a silent, desolate landscape where only the harshest survived.
Inside, that silence weighed heavy. The customers, once murmuring among themselves, now sat frozen in place, their faces pale with fear. The quiet was unnatural, almost deafening, the kind that made every heartbeat feel like a drumbeat. It was a silence that carried tension, as though the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for the violence that everyone sensed was coming. And yet, amid that silence, the Blood Serpent Gang stormed in with a chaotic energy, their presence disrupting the stillness like a rock crashing through glass.
They were loud, unrefined, their voices crude and mocking, their movements jerky and aggressive. The gang members stumbled over each other, shoving and barking orders as if they owned the place. They moved like predators—lacking grace but brimming with danger. They didn't care about the delicate balance of life around them; they existed to upset it, to tear through the quiet with the force of a storm. One by one, they dropped into the chairs, throwing themselves onto the wooden seats with a loud clatter, their boots slamming against the floorboards. Some sat hunched over the tables, slamming their fists and demanding food, while others leaned back in their chairs, the legs creaking under their weight as they spread out, arrogant and indifferent to the tension they had wrought.
"Where's the damn food?" one of them growled, his voice grating like metal on stone. He slammed his fist on the table, the force of it rattling the dishes. "Are we supposed to starve here?"
Another, younger but no less dangerous, laughed—an ugly, rasping sound. "This place looks like it serves nothing but slop anyway. What a joke."
The men yelled across the room, shouting for drinks and meals, their voices filling the air with a discordant hum, breaking the fragile stillness that had once dominated. Plates clattered as they were pushed aside, chairs screeched against the floor, and all around the restaurant, the once peaceful customers sat trembling, eyes darting from the gang to the floor, praying that their silence would save them.
In the center of the chaos, Jun watched them with the same cold detachment that had become his way of dealing with the world. The gang was nothing new to him; he had seen their type before—cruel, reckless, reveling in the suffering they inflicted. They mocked everything, their laughter cutting through the room like jagged blades, each word designed to degrade and belittle. The leader, a tall man with a twisted grin, was the worst of them all. His eyes gleamed with malice, his scarred face locked in an expression of sick enjoyment as he watched his men tear into the place with their arrogance.
Jun, as always, moved with calm purpose. He approached them, stepping over fallen chairs and broken plates with a quiet grace that seemed almost unnatural compared to the gang's roughness. His silence stood in stark contrast to their noise, his presence understated but powerful, like the quiet before a devastating storm. The moment he stepped forward, the room seemed to still, if only for a moment, as if the very air recognized the shift in energy.
"What do you want?" Jun asked, his voice low but firm, cutting through the gang's cacophony like a blade.
The gang members turned toward him, their laughter faltering for just a second before it came roaring back with even more cruelty.
"Well, well, look who's trying to be brave," one of the gang members sneered, leaning forward with a mocking grin. "The little server thinks he can play hero."
Jun stood tall, his face an impassive mask, as the gang erupted in another round of mocking laughter. One of them, a brute with a scar running across his chin, stood up and sauntered over to Jun, getting in his face. His breath smelled of alcohol and rotting meat.
"You think you can tell us what to do, huh?" the man growled, his voice thick with menace. "We run this place now. You? You're just here to serve us."
The man poked Jun in the chest with a dirty finger, his sneer widening as he leaned in closer. The rest of the gang watched, their eyes gleaming with sadistic glee, waiting for Jun to react, to give them an excuse to unleash the violence they were so eager to bring. But Jun didn't flinch. His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked on the man's, unwavering. The silence between them stretched thin, the gang's chaotic energy crackling in the air like static before a storm.
The brute's smirk faltered, if only for a second. He had expected fear, a reaction—anything that would show that he had power here. But Jun gave him nothing, not a flicker of emotion.
"I'll get your food," Jun said, his voice steady. He turned and walked away, leaving the gang member standing there, fists clenched and seething with unspent rage. The others roared with laughter, slapping their hands on the table in amusement.
"That one's got ice in his veins," one of them jeered, but the mocking tone held an edge of uncertainty now, a hint of something that hadn't been there before.
Jun disappeared into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving the gang to fester in their loud, chaotic mockery. They shouted after him, insults and taunts filling the air, but Jun's silence hung over them like a shadow, a reminder that not everything in this world could be cowed by their brutality.
And outside, the snow continued to fall, silent and unrelenting, covering the world in a blanket of cold indifference.
The tension in the kitchen was palpable, thickening the air like the oppressive weight of a storm about to break. The mother stood near the stove, her hands trembling as she stirred the pot, the clatter of the spoon against the metal betraying her nerves. The daughter, who had been so shy and curious before, now huddled close to her mother, her wide eyes darting to the door where the gang's loud voices and mocking laughter seeped through like poison. The warmth of the hearth did little to soothe their fear, and even the crackling fire seemed distant, powerless against the dark presence that had overtaken their home.
Jun, standing near the counter, moved with his usual calm, his face unreadable as always, though the tension in the room had not escaped him. He could feel the fear emanating from the mother and daughter, could see the way their eyes flitted to him, seeking some kind of reassurance. Slowly, he turned to them, his voice low but steady, a solid anchor in the chaos.
"Stay calm," he said, his gaze flicking briefly to the mother. "I'll handle it."
The mother's lips pressed into a thin line, fear still evident in her eyes, but she nodded, drawing her daughter closer to her side. The little girl clutched her mother's apron, her small frame trembling, and for a moment, Jun's gaze softened.
From across the room, old man Sun sat stiffly in his usual corner, his hands clenched into fists on the table. His usual jokes and warmth were gone, replaced by a palpable sense of dread. His eyes, which had seen so much in his long life, now betrayed fear—fear of what these men might do. He kept glancing toward the gang, as if expecting the worst at any moment. Nearby, the monk, who had been sitting in quiet contemplation, now took careful side glances toward the door, his fingers twitching slightly as if preparing for something. But his peaceful demeanor was strained, his calm exterior cracking under the pressure of the situation.
Jun, ever calm, gathered the dishes with slow, deliberate movements. As he made his way back out into the dining room, carrying trays of food, the gang's raucous laughter and shouting seemed louder, more aggressive. He knew they were waiting for a reaction, but he gave them none. He stepped into the room, his steps measured, placing the dishes on the table where the gang sat in a chaotic sprawl, their boots kicked up on chairs, hands slapping the table, demanding more.
The little girl peeked from the door, her small face peering out from behind the frame. One of the gang members caught sight of her, his eyes narrowing with a nasty gleam. He nudged the man next to him, who was swigging from a flask, and pointed toward the girl.
"Hey, you!" the first one called out, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. "How about you send that little one to serve us some drinks, huh? We could use some… entertainment."
The mother, hearing this, gasped quietly, her hand flying to her mouth as she pulled the girl back into the kitchen, out of sight. Jun stood still, his face expressionless, but a subtle shift in the air made it clear that he had heard. His silence, however, only seemed to embolden them. One of the men picked up a plate and threw it across the table, letting it shatter on the floor beside Jun's feet.
"What's the matter, server?" the man sneered, standing up from his chair and lurching toward Jun. "Didn't you hear us? Send the girl, or maybe you're going to serve us yourself?"
Jun said nothing, his calm exterior unwavering, but the man's sneer grew darker. With a quick, violent motion, he grabbed a bowl of hot soup from the table, his hand shaking with anger. He lifted it high, ready to throw it over Jun's head.
Before the steaming liquid could spill, the monk stood up abruptly, his voice breaking through the tension. "Wait!" he called out, stepping forward. His face was pale, and though his voice carried an air of authority, there was fear behind his words. "There is no need for violence."
The gang turned their attention to him, their expressions shifting from amusement to irritation. The vice leader of the gang, a cruel man with cold, dead eyes, clicked his tongue in annoyance, taking a step closer to the monk.
"Tsk… another one trying to be brave," the vice leader muttered, his voice low and menacing. He approached the monk slowly, each step deliberate, as if savoring the moment. The air between them grew thick with tension, the atmosphere charged with an unspoken threat.
The monk, his hands shaking slightly, raised them in a gesture of peace. "We are all human beings," he said, his voice trembling but resolute. "There is no need for violence. Let us resolve this peacefully, in the name of the Buddha."
The gang erupted into laughter, cruel and mocking, as the vice leader came to a stop just in front of the monk. "Buddha?" he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. "You think your prayers are going to save you?"
The monk's hands were still raised, but now there was a flicker of determination in his eyes. He moved into a stance, attempting one of the Buddha's hand techniques, hoping to disarm the situation. But the vice leader was faster. His fist shot out, hitting the monk square in the chest. The blow landed with a dull thud, and the monk staggered backward, his breath knocked out of him. He had no internal energy to back up his technique—it was just empty gestures, a façade of strength.
The vice leader sneered, drawing his sword slowly, the metal rasping against its sheath. He pointed the blade at the monk's chest, the tip gleaming coldly in the dim light of the room.
"I could kill you right here," he said softly, his voice like ice. The words dripped with malice, and the room seemed to grow colder with each syllable. "But first, I think I'll take my time. Maybe I'll start with those people hiding in the kitchen. Maybe I'll make you watch."
The monk's eyes widened in fear. He closed his eyes, bracing for the strike, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The blade inched closer, and the gang's laughter grew louder, more frenzied. They were reveling in the terror, feeding off it, like wolves circling their prey.
But just as the blade was about to make contact, it stopped.
The room fell into sudden silence.
The monk, confused, opened his eyes slowly. He saw the blade, mere inches from his chest, caught in a firm grip. Jun stood there, his bare hand wrapped around the cold steel of the sword, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever. The vice leader's face twisted in shock, his hand trembling as he tried to pull the sword back, but it didn't budge.
Jun's fingers tightened ever so slightly, and with a smooth, effortless motion, he yanked the sword from the vice leader's grip. The gang leader stumbled backward, his eyes wide with disbelief. The atmosphere in the room froze, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.
In a single, fluid movement, Jun flicked his wrist, sending the vice leader hurtling backward with a force so sudden it was as though he had been struck by a great wind. He flew across the room, crashing through the door, splinters flying as his body was flung outside into the snow.
For a moment, no one moved. The gang, once loud and brash, sat in stunned silence, their eyes fixed on Jun. The laughter had died in their throats, replaced by a heavy, oppressive fear.
Jun stood still, his hand slowly lowering from where he had caught the blade. The room, once filled with chaos and cruelty, now seemed frozen in time, as if the very air had been sucked from it.
The atmosphere inside the inn was suffocating, a vicious tension hanging thick in the air. Outside, the cold, biting wind howled through the snow-covered forest, the chill seeping through the wooden walls of the inn like an uninvited guest. Yet, it was not the cold from the outside that froze the hearts of those within—it was the palpable fear of what was happening inside.
The gang, led by the infamous Blood Serpent Gang, had entered the inn like a storm, chaotic and disorderly. Their presence turned the once warm and inviting space into a den of intimidation and brutality. They shouted at the top of their lungs, some throwing chairs aside before dropping into them with loud thuds. Others slammed their fists on the tables, demanding food and drink as if they owned the place. Their voices, coarse and filled with malice, echoed off the wooden beams, sending shivers through the patrons.
Jun remained in the kitchen, his eyes steady as he glanced toward the mother and daughter, both of whom were clearly frightened. The mother's hands trembled as she worked, and the girl kept casting nervous glances toward the door, her face pale. Even old man Sun, usually so full of bluster, sat in his corner with his mouth shut, his usual banter silenced by the oppressive fear that gripped the room. The monk, too, sitting quietly in the corner, was no longer calm—his eyes flicked toward the gang members with every slight movement they made.
Sensing the rising panic, Jun stepped forward, his presence immediately offering a strange sense of calm to the mother and daughter. His voice was soft but firm. "It's alright," he said, placing a hand on the mother's shoulder. "Stay calm. They won't hurt you."
The mother nodded shakily, and the daughter managed a faint smile, though her fear was still visible in her eyes. Jun grabbed the trays of food and made his way out to the main room, his steps measured and deliberate.
As Jun stepped into the dining area, the little girl peeked from the kitchen door, her wide eyes watching the gang with a mixture of curiosity and fear. One of the gang members, his eyes bloodshot and wild, noticed her immediately.
"Oi! What's this? A little mouse hiding behind the door?" he jeered, his lips curling into a sneer. "Why don't you come over here, little mouse? How about you serve us some of that wine, huh?"
Jun paused, his expression unchanged, but the atmosphere in the room grew even colder. He did not respond to the man's taunts, simply setting the food down in front of them.
"Didn't you hear me, boy?" the gang member growled, slamming his fist on the table. "I said, make the girl serve us!"
When Jun still didn't answer, the gang's anger flared. Without warning, one of them grabbed a plate and smashed it on top of Jun's head, sending shattered fragments flying. Jun didn't flinch. His expression remained impassive, though blood trickled from a cut on his forehead.
"Oh, a tough one, eh?" another gang member sneered, picking up a bowl of hot soup. "Let's see how tough you are after this!"
As he raised the bowl, ready to throw it at Jun, the monk stood up abruptly. "Stop this!" he shouted, stepping forward, his hands shaking but his eyes filled with a flicker of determination. "Violence has no place here. Have you no shame?"
The vice leader of the gang, a cruel smile playing on his lips, leaned back in his chair, amused by the monk's intervention. "Tsk," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. He rose from his seat and strolled over to the monk, his eyes glinting with malice.
"You think you can stop me, old man?" the vice leader sneered, his face inches from the monk's. The air seemed to tighten around them, and even the gang members fell silent, sensing the brewing tension.
The monk, trembling but resolute, clasped his hands together in a gesture of peace. "Buddha teaches us to—"
Before the monk could finish, the vice leader shoved him hard in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. The monk gasped, clutching his chest in pain. Desperate, he tried to defend himself with a weak fist, but the vice leader caught it effortlessly, laughing as he twisted the monk's arm behind his back.
"You think Buddha's gonna save you now?" the vice leader taunted, drawing his sword slowly, its cold steel glinting in the dim light. He pressed the blade against the monk's throat, the edge sharp enough to draw blood with the slightest pressure. The gang laughed, their cruel voices filling the room.
The monk closed his eyes, his breath shaky as he whispered a silent prayer, preparing for the inevitable.
But the blade never came.
The monk's eyes shot open in shock, and he saw the vice leader frozen, his sword caught mid-swing in Jun's bare hand. The atmosphere in the room shifted in an instant. The air grew so still that even the faintest breath seemed too loud. Jun's hand, unflinching, gripped the steel, his expression unreadable. The vice leader's sneer faltered, confusion and fear flickering across his face.
With a slight, almost casual movement, Jun twisted his hand, sending the vice leader flying through the air. He crashed through the door, splintering it even further, and was flung outside, disappearing into the snow with a muffled thud.
For a moment, there was nothing but stunned silence. The gang members, who had been so loud and boisterous moments ago, stood frozen in place, their eyes wide in disbelief. They exchanged nervous glances, clearly shaken by what they had just witnessed.
The leader of the gang, Zhang Shuren, stood up slowly, his cold gaze fixed on Jun. Unlike the others, Zhang understood immediately—this man was no ordinary tavern worker. There was something dangerous about him, something that even the gang leader could not fully comprehend.
Zhang strode forward, his movements measured, his eyes never leaving Jun. "You're no simple man," he said quietly, his voice devoid of mockery. "I can see that now. It seems we've made a mistake."
Jun remained silent, his gaze steady.
Zhang glanced at his men, then back at Jun. "We'll take our leave now," he said, his tone calm but respectful. "We meant no harm. We'll take our man and be on our way."
Jun nodded once, his silence speaking volumes.
The gang leader turned to his men, motioning for them to retrieve the vice leader. As they stepped outside, they found his body lying 100 meters away in the snow, unconscious and covered in a thin layer of frost. They stared in shock, their fear now palpable.
Without another word, they gathered the vice leader and hurried away, casting wary glances back at the inn, their arrogance shattered.
Inside, the monk collapsed onto his knees, trembling with a mixture of fear and relief. Jun approached him, offering a hand to help him up.
"Thank you," the monk whispered, bowing his head deeply. "I... I didn't have to intervene, but I couldn't stand by and watch. You saved my life."
Jun shook his head slightly. "You didn't have to, but you did. Thank you."
Old man Sun, who had been silent throughout the ordeal, now looked at Jun with a strange light in his eyes, as if seeing him in an entirely new way. The little girl peeked from the kitchen door, her face lighting up with happiness, and the mother let out a long, relieved sigh, finally able to breathe again.
The tension had broken, but the weight of what had just happened lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken.
The midnight hour draped the village in a shroud of silence. An icy storm swept through, the wind howling like a banshee, carrying with it needles of snow that stung anything it touched. The wooden houses, now dark with their lights extinguished, huddled together against the relentless onslaught of the cold, as though they too could feel the biting wind. The village was asleep, buried beneath a thick layer of snow that continued to accumulate. Not a soul stirred in the storm, save for the wind's fury and the creaking of branches burdened with ice.
Inside the small inn, the warmth of the hearth had faded into embers, casting long shadows across the room. Jun stood in the doorway, glancing at the mother and her daughter, both asleep, huddled together beneath blankets. Their faces were peaceful, free of the worries that plagued the world beyond the walls of their home. Jun felt a flicker of something in his chest—something he hadn't felt in years. It was warmth, not from the fire, but from the quiet bond he'd formed with this little family. A part of him didn't want to leave them, but he had to—if only for a little while.
He stepped out into the night, closing the door quietly behind him, and made his way into the deep woods. His bare chest was exposed to the freezing wind, but he didn't flinch. His skin, pale under the moonlight, glistened with the faint sheen of frost. He walked calmly, his breath steady, his eyes distant as if already lost in thought. The forest seemed alive, the storm swirling through the treetops, shaking loose great clumps of snow. Yet despite the chaos of the weather, the silence was unnerving, broken only by the wind's wail.
Reaching a secluded clearing, Jun stopped. He stood tall amidst the swirling snow, his posture unwavering as he closed his eyes. His thoughts drifted to the past—the battles he'd fought, the demons he had faced, the people he had met, and the sister he had lost. His heart tugged him in different directions. He knew he needed to find her, but each day, the world pulled him into the problems of others—martial artists, demons, and even gods. "I shouldn't get carried away," he murmured to himself, his voice lost in the wind. "I need to find my family."
But as his mind settled on the thought of leaving, images of the little boy and the mother flashed in his head. The warmth of their presence stirred something deep within him. Could he really leave them? He felt conflicted, torn between duty and desire, between family and these strangers who had somehow become something more. That warmth, the one he'd long forgotten, now gnawed at him, refusing to let go. He opened his eyes, staring up at the cold, bright moon.
"Come out," Jun said aloud, his voice cutting through the storm. "I know you're there."
There was a long pause, the wind seemed to still for a moment, and then, from the shadows of the trees, an old man stepped forward, stroking his long, silver beard. It was the old man from the inn, but something about him seemed different now. His eyes gleamed with curiosity, and there was a faint smirk on his lips. Despite the raging storm, his hair and robes were completely unmoved, as though the elements had no power over him.
"Interesting kid," the old man said, his voice calm, almost amused. "You've got a bit of bite to you, but I can't see your depth... you're no easy one to figure out."
Jun's eyes narrowed slightly, his body still relaxed, but his senses alert. "Who are you?"
The old man chuckled, the sound barely audible over the wind. "I could ask you the same thing, boy. Are you one of them? You don't look normal. No... you're similar to them, but... different."
Jun took a step forward, his voice steady. "I don't think you're worthy enough to know."
The old man's eyes gleamed with a cold light as he stroked his beard again, taking his time with every word. "Worthy, huh? You've got some nerve. But I wonder, what would you say if I made you talk?"
The storm's wind picked up suddenly, but Jun noticed something strange—despite the powerful gusts, the old man's hair didn't move an inch. And then, with a motion so slow it seemed leisurely, yet so fast it was almost imperceptible, the old man raised his hand. His eyes began to glow, a sharp blue light piercing the darkness. Jun felt the hair on his body rise, a tingling sensation crawling down his spine.
"I'll make you talk," the old man whispered, his voice now cold as the wind itself.
Suddenly, from all around Jun, the air seemed to crackle and shift. A dome of lightning surrounded him, trapping him in its deadly web. Bolts of electricity lashed out, hitting his body with brutal force. The lightning pierced his skin, running through his veins, burning into his bones. Each strike sent him reeling as if he were a kite whose string had been snapped.
The old man watched, a faint smile of amusement on his lips. "Interesting... you don't break so easily. You disperse the energy instead of letting it consume you. Fascinating." His voice echoed through the clearing, though his lips barely moved.
Jun groaned as the electricity surged through him, sending him flying backward into the snow. His body skidded across the ground, leaving a deep trail in the frozen earth. But as the pain throbbed through his limbs, he gritted his teeth and planted his feet firmly in the snow. Slowly, he stood, his breath steadying. His eyes snapped open, dark and intense.
In the blink of an eye, the old man was in front of him, standing impossibly close. "Very interesting," he whispered, leaning in with an eerie calm. He placed a hand on Jun's chest, and immediately, a tremendous surge of lightning gathered at the point of contact. The energy swirled violently, coiling in on itself until it felt like an entire storm had been trapped in Jun's body.
"I think I'll have to beat you half to death before you talk," the old man mused, his voice low and filled with dark amusement.
The lightning gathered in Jun's chest, building into a monstrous storm of energy. It crackled and sparked, tearing through his body, but Jun didn't move. His gaze remained locked on the old man's. Slowly, deliberately, Jun raised his hand and caught the old man's wrist, gripping it tightly.
"Interesting," Jun murmured, his voice low, almost calm. "Now... let me give back what I took."
He steadied his feet, sinking into a horse stance. The ground beneath him began to shift, the snow swirling in a vortex around him. The wind howled louder, but it no longer felt like a mere storm—it was as if the entire world was bending toward Jun's command. A deep, powerful hum filled the air, and then, in an instant, the snow beneath their feet began to curve inward, forming a massive hollow in the earth.
All around them, the sky darkened, and in a flash, thousands of swords made of golden energy materialized in the air. They hovered above Jun like a swarm of gleaming specters, their sharp edges aimed directly at the old man.
The old man's eyes widened slightly, but his smile never faltered. "Fascinating," he whispered, the word barely escaping his lips as the golden swords shot toward him with blinding speed.
The air crackled with power, the ground trembled beneath their feet, and the storm of energy engulfed the clearing in a blaze of light.
每周推薦票狀態
-- 推薦票
榜單 
-- 推薦票