Steadily Upgrading Everything!
Chapter 45: But it was dramatic!

Chapter 45: But it was dramatic!

As John reclined against the mossy bark of a broken tree, his body still aching from the brutal clash with Brandon, his breathing gradually steadied.

The warmth of the healing pill pulsed through his veins, numbing the worst of the pain.

Nearby, Caros was crouched beside a pile of corpses, humming quietly as he rummaged through their spatial bags, occasionally muttering critiques under his breath about their fashion sense or poor loot choices.

But then, without warning, the forest shifted.

The wind stilled.

A chilling silence swallowed every sound.

It was as if the jungle itself had stopped breathing.

Suddenly, an invisible force, dense and suffocating, descended upon the area like a vice around the chest.

John’s eyes snapped open.

The sense of tranquility he’d been clinging to instantly shattered.

A cold bead of sweat trickled down the side of his temple as he sat up straight.

Across from him, Caros had already frozen mid-loot, his fingers still clutching the flap of a bag.

He slowly straightened, eyes narrowing as he turned to the treeline.

"John..." Caros’s voice came low and unnervingly serious. "This... this isn’t normal spirit pressure."

John stood shakily, gripping the hilt of his saber. "I feel it too. Heavy... overwhelming. Whoever it is, they’re far beyond anyone we’ve dealt with."

His pulse quickened as his instincts screamed at him to flee.

The sheer presence pressing down on them felt like being buried beneath a mountain.

Then, without any noise or warning, something was hurled from the treeline.

Thud!

A severed head landed with a dull, sickening roll at their feet.

John’s breath hitched in his throat as he looked down.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

"...That’s... Mei Lan," he whispered.

The Silverplume girl they’d just saved.

Her eyes were still open, glassy, her expression locked in a final moment of panic and betrayal.

Caros, uncharacteristically silent, didn’t even glance at the head.

His eyes were fixed on the woods, his jaw clenched tight.

"John..." His voice trembled. "We need to run."

John turned sharply toward him.

He had never seen Caros like this, tense, pale, the usual glint of humor replaced with something raw. Fear.

But it was too late.

The jungle shifted again.

From between the ancient trees, three figures emerged.

Like a creeping nightmare, they stepped into view, slow, deliberate, unhurried.

A girl led them, her silver hair cascading down like a waterfall of moonlight, her eyes flat, emotionless, lifeless.

Her face betrayed nothing but a void.

To her left walked a young man with the same silver hair, slightly taller, with a glint of cruel amusement in his eyes as he looked directly at John and Caros.

On the right came the final figure, a red-haired man with scorched markings around both eyes, as though someone had branded symbols into his flesh.

His eyes, pale and ghostly white, held no pupils.

He grinned, revealing slightly sharpened teeth.

All three wore robes blacker than midnight, marked with a subtle blood-red emblem, a sword striking downward.

John’s eyes went to the girl, and his mouth opened slightly.

"Benneca..."

But Caros interrupted him sharply, his voice a whisper laced with dread.

"Silentswords."

John’s eyes darted to Caros.

In that one word, he understood everything.

Assassins. Killers. Legends whispered about in quiet corners of inns and mercenary camps.

A clan or perhaps a cult, shrouded in mystery, known only for killing anyone who ever learned too much about them.

And now they were here.

And they had thrown Mei Lan’s head at their feet.

John’s knuckles whitened around his saber.

His instincts screamed run.

Every nerve in his body agreed.

But he didn’t get the chance.

"Hehehe... going somewhere?" the red-haired man hissed.

Before John could blink, the man raised a single hand, and a black thread, so thin it was nearly invisible, whipped out like a serpent.

It wrapped around John in a blink, binding him tight in coils of unbreakable silk.

The pressure was so intense he couldn’t even gasp.

The string wasn’t just tight, it drank his Qi.

John felt his strength being drained through every contact point.

The thread snaked toward Caros next, but as it lunged, it met only empty air.

Caros had moved, no, vanished, appearing a few meters behind John in a blur of motion, his hand already on the hilt of his curved dagger.

His face was pale, but calm now. Focused.

"Don’t resist, John," Caros murmured, eyeing the red-haired man. "These aren’t people you want to fight."

John’s heart pounded in his chest, the binding burning against his skin.

He didn’t answer, he couldn’t.

But his eyes, sharp with willpower, flared with golden light.

"Not today," he muttered, his forehead gleaming with concentrated energy.

With a focused breath, he activated Soul Piercing Gaze, Level Three.

A blazing beam of brilliant light erupted from the center of his forehead, this wasn’t some invisible force, but a tangible beam, sharp as a spear and focused like a laser.

It seared through the air with a hum, instantly severing the dark string into fragments of crackling shadow that dissipated with a hiss.

The moment the string snapped, the atmosphere thickened.

The two men in front flinched subtly.

Their smirks wavered.

Even Benneca, who had remained passive until now, flicked her eyes toward John.

A flicker of interest, cold and calculating, danced in her gaze.

"Interesting technique," the red-haired man said, his grin widening unnaturally.

His voice was amused, but his eyes sharpened. "I wonder if you can escape from this..."

With a casual flick of his wrist, a thin black sword materialized in his palm.

Dark energy pulsated from it like a heartbeat.

Behind him, a phantom image of a venomous serpent emerged, massive, hooded, and coiling in silent menace.

It hissed without sound.

"Ghost Venom Sword!" the red-haired man yelled.

His aura surged, the ground around him cracking under pressure.

He hurled the sword.

It didn’t fly like a weapon, it dove like a predator.

Instantly, two ghostly snakes erupted from the soil, anchoring John in place.

Their bodies weren’t fully physical, yet their coils were real enough to paralyze his limbs with spiritual weight.

He couldn’t move. Not an inch.

The sword came closer.

The air howled as it passed, churning wind and dust into a vortex.

The very earth cracked and curled from the sheer pressure.

John gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead.

Once again, Soul Piercing Gaze, Another beam erupted, brighter, fiercer, his fury channeling into it.

It blazed toward the incoming sword.

Caros, watching from the side, immediately realized the danger.

His eyes widened, face pale. "Shit," he cursed under his breath. "I have to use it."

With a grim expression, he activated a hidden ability.

His form blurred, teleportation.

But it was no ordinary blink, his eyes glowed purple, and blood began to drip from their corners.

A heavy toll.

Benneca saw Caros and acted.

Subtle yet deadly, she flicked her wrist and sent a slim dagger silently flying toward John from the side.

Meanwhile, John’s beam struck the sword.

For a moment, they clashed, blazing light against cursed steel, but then the sword pushed through.

The gaze beam shattered like glass, and the blade surged forward, now inches from John’s chest.

John’s heart froze.

But suddenly, a hand on his arm.

He turned slightly and saw Caros beside him, face tight with strain, eyes hemorrhaging tears of blood.

And then, nothing.

The world twisted.

The sword and dagger vanished mid-air, consumed by space.

A blink later, the clearing was empty.

Wind blew over the battlefield, scattering ash and silence.

The red-haired man stumbled forward, blinking at the empty space.

"They—teleported?" he growled in disbelief. His eyes scanned wildly.

Benneca frowned. "Tch." She spun on her heels and walked away without a word.

The third figure, Clark, shrugged and followed her.

"Where are you guys going?!" Crimson barked, stomping a foot. "We have to find them! That was my most expensive sword!"

Benneca kept walking, unmoved.

Clark chuckled dryly. "Crimson, we’ll find them sooner or later. Stop whining."

"You don’t get it!" Crimson paced, red eyes wide. "If they die in some ditch and some random sect outer disciple picks up my blade, we’ll never find it again. Do you know how many people roam the Blue Cauldron Sect?!"

Clark sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. "Shut up and walk. You were the idiot who threw your sword in the first place."

"But it was dramatic!" Crimson protested.

Clark ignored him, already vanishing into the trees.

Both John and Caros reappeared in a sharp flash of twisted space, the ripple of teleportation cracking the air around them.

They landed roughly about a kilometer away from their original battlefield, their bodies barely upright from the strain of the escape.

The moment their feet hit the uneven earth, John collapsed.

With a hard thud, he dropped to the rocky ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Blood gushed from his lips in a thick, violent spray, splattering the stones below him.

A wet choking sound escaped his throat as he coughed again, more blood followed.

His vision blurred.

His limbs trembled.

Then he looked down.

A jagged spike of cold horror stabbed through his chest, not just emotionally, but physically.

The hilt of Crimson’s sword was sticking out from the left side of his chest, just below the collarbone.

The blade had somehow pierced all the way through before the teleportation pulled them away.

The wound was ugly. Deep. Searing pain radiated through his ribcage with every breath, and his vision began to swim.

Caros, who had landed just a few steps away, staggered slightly as the teleportation faded.

He slowly lifted his head, sweat pouring down his pale face.

He scanned the surroundings with dazed eyes, rock walls, jagged formations, and a narrow opening above that let in golden rays of light.

They had landed inside a small, hidden crevice carved into a cliffside hill, covered in moss and hidden from view.

A perfect shelter. Isolated. Safe.

Caros exhaled, relief mixing with exhaustion. "We made it..." he muttered under his breath.

But then his gaze landed on John, and his heart instantly seized in his chest.

"Shit... John—!" he cried, eyes going wide with panic.

He stumbled toward him, but only took one step before the world suddenly tilted.

His balance faltered. His knees buckled.

Confusion flashed across his face just before he crashed to the ground, face-first, beside John.

His breath slowed. His limbs stopped responding. The air around him seemed to pulse with dull heat.

It was only then, as his body slackened, that a tiny dagger could be seen buried deep in his thigh.

Almost invisible against the black of his pants, it had slipped past his awareness in the chaos of battle.

But now, its work was being done.

A sickly green glow faintly emanated from the wound, poison.

Potent and fast-acting. It raced through Caros’s veins like wildfire, numbing muscle, dulling thought, dragging him toward unconsciousness.

His purple eyes fluttered, unfocused.

"Damn... it..." he whispered, barely audible. "Should’ve... checked..."

And then, darkness claimed him.