Chapter 49: The Beautiful, Powerful, and Tragic Villain Cannon Fodder—My Father Is a King, Part 2

With a face still round with baby fat, little Qin Bing clenched his tiny fists and declared fiercely that he would beat up the bad guys—so much so that Xiao Jiang found himself utterly charmed by him.

Charmed as he was, Xiao Jiang began unconsciously looking after Qin Bing in every way. Now, Qin Bing was as important to Xiao Jiang as family. Yet Xiao Jiang, sharp and perceptive, noticed something strange on the faces of the stewards and instructors around them. Their expressions were filled with pity and regret, as if they were looking at a group of doomed souls, soon to die.

The stewards and masters rotated frequently. For most of the other children, they barely remembered their faces before new strangers replaced them.

Xiao Jiang felt uneasy. But his worry was of no use.

“I don’t remember, but I know my father is amazing. No matter where I hide, he’ll always find me,” Qin Bing, growing more silent as he aged, always answered Xiao Jiang’s questions and responded to his concerns.

Though not related by blood, the two supported each other like the closest of brothers.

“Xiao Bing, you’ll definitely find your family,” Xiao Jiang said. It was as though he had made a decision, dispelling his uncertainty and revealing a bright smile.

Qin Bing nodded earnestly, though his face betrayed little emotion. “Your family is my family. My father will definitely find me.”

Xiao Jiang murmured his agreement: “I believe you.”

Of course, he only said so; in truth, he didn’t believe it at all.

Ah, Xiao Bing is so naïve—he’d probably be sold off and not even realize it.

But it seemed Xiao Jiang could no longer accompany Xiao Bing much further.

With a sigh, Xiao Jiang rested, then left their lodgings with Qin Bing, heading to the medicine pool, now much less crowded.

The medicine pool, prepared by the physician, was usually off-limits. Only those who performed exceptionally well could soak in it. This time, however, everyone was allowed.

Their training taught them only the arts of killing—high offense, low defense—and focused most on endurance and perseverance. Nothing else was taught, nor was there anywhere else to learn.

By the time they finished soaking, it was late. Xiao Jiang lay with his hands behind his head, staring up at the pitch-black ceiling.

“You’re worried,” Qin Bing’s voice suddenly sounded.

Xiao Jiang forced a wry smile. “I’m worried you’ll be sold off and still help them count their money.”

“I’m not an idiot. Your worry is entirely unnecessary.”

“Yes, yes, Xiao Bing is the best.”

In the darkness, Qin Bing’s lips twitched into a faint smile.

With no expression, he looked serious enough, but once he smiled, he turned harmless and sweet.

That was why he usually kept his cool and expressionless demeanor.

Harmlessness meant worthlessness, and the worthless must be eliminated.

By contrast, even when Xiao Jiang smiled, his eyes remained cold.

Under the same starry sky, the children closed their eyes and fell into sleep, unaware that the moment they opened them again, they would face the cruelest tragedy.

Meanwhile, Qin Ye was racing for his life.

Had he mastered his divine skill? Well, barely—the pinnacle of human martial arts, yet for cultivators, it was only a starting point.

So, Qin Ye’s mastery meant that he had subdued the nascent spiritual consciousness of the divine weapon with his own soul.

He had tamed it completely; thus, his divine skill was perfected.

After leaving seclusion, he sprinted toward the location of his child.

The original self’s obsession urged him ceaselessly to find the child and rescue him.

Qiu Lingsu, that madwoman, could seek revenge herself—why torment her own son so? She, as his mother, felt no pain, but the original self did.

Thus, beneath the starry sky, some were sleeping deeply, some were fighting fiercely, and some were desperately racing against time.

Qin Ye pushed his lightness skill to the point where it seemed he was flying on a sword. His internal energy had long been depleted; now, only the power of the divine weapon sustained him.

Yet even that power was not inexhaustible.

Had it been a different master, Tai’a would have abandoned him long ago.

But Qin Ye had just violently subdued its spiritual consciousness.

Tai’a could only pour its power into him with all its might.

As dawn approached, Qin Ye finally arrived at the foot of the desolate snowy mountain.

It was midsummer, yet from the mountain’s waist upward, snow piled thick and white.

The heat of midsummer seemed unable to touch it.

After a brief rest, Qin Ye caught an unlucky fish, expertly gutted and skewered it, and roasted it over the fire.

Surprisingly, the fish here was exceptionally fresh.

Even with only simple salt for seasoning, the meat was sweet and delicious, refreshing to the palate, with not a trace of fishy odor.

Qin Ye pondered.

Such a fine place—letting the demonic sect occupy it, these fish were truly pitiful.

As the leader of the righteous alliance, he could not stand by.

What, the righteous alliance was only a makeshift coalition of third-rate sects in a certain region?

With Qin Ye at its head, it was the greatest force in the world, bar none.

Faced with the choice between eating another fish and searching for the child first, Qin Ye chose the latter.

He gathered his internal energy and sped up the mountain, only to find that the headquarters was barely guarded.

Of course—the guardians and hall masters of the holy sect were all busy elsewhere.

Within the martial world, a Daoist temple, a monastery, an abbey, and the four great sects together formed the seven top martial powers.

Legend had it that the founders of these seven were the first wielders of the seven divine weapons.

Or so it was said. The demonic sect claimed the same for themselves.

Each side accused the other of making up stories and gilding their own reputations.

As for the main headquarters, since it was where the Holy Lord secluded himself, it needed no defense.

Those left behind were merely to ensure the Holy Lord had servants when he emerged, not to guard the headquarters.

Unlike the righteous sects, the demonic ones could not openly recruit.

In essence, they were still universally reviled, targets for the righteous youths to purge.

Qin Ye encountered little resistance on his way up.

...

“Kill!”

In the confined underground chamber, a group of teenagers savagely fought each other.

They had been taught from childhood that the weak and worthless had no right to live, and the strong needed no friends.

Pairs like Xiao Jiang and Qin Bing were anomalies.

The most outstanding pairs often viewed each other as their greatest rivals.

Resource competition was fierce: what one gained, the other lost.

Xiao Jiang and Qin Bing, however, always shared whatever they obtained, so it mattered little who got more.

As a result, they weren’t particularly outstanding among the other youths.

Yet, they had an advantage—others lacked trust and fought alone, while they could confidently entrust their backs to each other.

Together, they had survived to the end.

The underground plaza blazed with torchlight, illuminating the space.

Bodies lay strewn across the ground—teenagers, all—with the thick stench of blood filling the air.

A savage wound ran from the corner of Xiao Jiang’s eye to his chin, the skin torn—had he not dodged in time, his face would have been slashed in half.

Qin Bing had been stabbed in the waist, blood flowing continuously, but he had neither time nor opportunity to tend to his injury.

Compared to the others, they were still relatively well off; now, only four teenagers remained standing.

Besides Xiao Jiang and Qin Bing, the other two were more gravely wounded but also stronger.

Faced with the united front of Qin Bing and Xiao Jiang, the two exchanged glances and reached an understanding—they would deal with Xiao Jiang and Qin Bing first, then settle their own fate.

“Xiao Bing, whichever of us survives to the end, must live on for both our sakes,” Xiao Jiang whispered.

Pale with pain, Qin Bing nodded softly, barely audible.

In a concealed corner higher than the plaza, dressed head to toe in black and masked, Qiu Lingsu watched with a grim expression.

“Useless.”

To her, Qin Bing’s performance was utterly worthless.

Were it not for her exquisite plan for revenge, Qiu Lingsu would have killed her disgraceful son herself.

The steward beside her kept his head down, silent.

These boys, used as expendable tools, trained with skills that consumed their potential—forced growth through demonic arts, so even if they survived, their lives would be short.

The steward heard her declaration of ‘useless’ and thought this woman must be mentally unwell.

In truth, those who truly knew Qiu Lingsu understood that she was indeed afflicted.

Thus, none wished to have anything to do with her.

Her faction obsessed over Shuiyue Abbey, ignoring all else. Her hatred for Sang Lianxin was deep and bitter.

Officially, she claimed to hate Yan Wushuang as much, but she had already devised her revenge for him.

As for Sang Lianxin, that vile woman cared most for Shuiyue Abbey—so Qiu Lingsu would personally destroy it, just to see the expression on Sang Lianxin’s face.

Yet, her revenge against Yan Wushuang had been thwarted.

Her child with Yan Wushuang turned out to be a failure—not only incapable of killing Yan Wushuang, but unable even to get near him.

If he wasn’t killed by Yan Wushuang himself, what purpose did he serve?

Beneath her black veil, Qiu Lingsu’s face twisted in malice; the venom and cruelty in her eyes made the steward involuntarily step back two paces.

“What is that child’s name?” Qiu Lingsu suddenly asked.

The steward knew the name of every boy present, even if their lives would end today.

He glanced at her and replied calmly, “His name is Xiao Jiang.”