Night fell low. Bonfires lit one by one in the novice village, casting shadows across stone roads and wooden huts. Xu Zhu leaned against a wall, his stick planted in the ground, breathing quietly. Today's dungeon had been too perilous; though his face was calm, his body was still taut.
Ling Xue sat nearby in silence, her longsword resting across her knees, her gaze fixed on Xu Zhu. It was her first time seeing someone like this: a man with only one drop of blood, yet who dared stand before the boss alone. That kind of solitary courage was beyond imagination.
"They're calling you a maniac," Ling Xue said softly.
Xu Zhu didn't lift his head, only replied faintly: "Maniacs live longer."
The words had barely left his lips when hurried footsteps came from afar.
"Bro! Big bro!" A plump figure stumbled over, cheeks flushed from running, panting hard. In his hand was half a chewed piece of bread.
"You're that Residual Blood Maniac, right? I've decided—starting today, I'm following you!"
Xu Zhu raised his eyes. It was the chubby, loudmouthed player who was always mocked in the village. He called himself "Fatty Third"—clumsy, chatty, but with oddly sincere eyes.
Ling Xue arched a brow. "You sure? Following him means you could die any time."
Fatty Third grinned. "Life's nothing! I watched the stream—he's the real deal. I, Fatty Third, swear wherever big bro goes, I go!"
Xu Zhu frowned, ready to refuse, but didn't. Some instinct told him—this fat fool might not be dead weight when it mattered.
…
As the three exchanged words, the night wind suddenly chilled.
From the darkness came a sharp whistling!
"Move!" Xu Zhu barked.
He shoved Fatty Third aside just as a black-feathered dart hissed past his ear, thudding into the wall with a quiver.
From the shadows, figures emerged—gray cloaks, cold eyes, guild emblem clear above their heads: Overlord Spear.
"Residual Blood Maniac." The lead assassin licked his lips with a sneer. "The guild master said—you die tonight."
Ling Xue's sword rang free, cold light flashing. Fatty Third nearly collapsed, but forced himself to Xu Zhu's side, voice shaking: "Big bro, I… I'll help you!"
"Don't panic." Xu Zhu's eyes were like blades, locked on the shadows closing in.
—He knew well: this was Overlord Spear's first assassination.
…
The assassins moved, silent steps, short blades gleaming in the dark.
One touch would mean his death.
But Xu Zhu didn't retreat—he advanced.
The world of the Residual Edge opened again, wind and killing intent slowing.
He heard the rhythm of breaths, the cut of air around each blade.
"Left, three!"
His shout cut the night, stick sweeping wide—knocking aside a dagger! Sparks burst, numbing his arm.
"Right, above!"
Ling Xue's sword flashed, slicing through a cloak. Blood sprayed, a scream split the dark.
Fatty Third, drenched in sweat, hurled stones wildly—and by luck, smashed one assassin's helmet.
"I… I hit him?!" he stammered, stunned himself.
Xu Zhu didn't smile. He knew the true danger had only begun.
The lead assassin finally struck—speed several times faster, dagger gleaming, lunging straight for Xu Zhu's throat!
A killing blow!
The air froze. Ling Xue couldn't reach him, Fatty Third helpless.
But at the instant before the blade touched skin, Xu Zhu's eyes chilled. His toe pressed, body spinning sideways, stick lashing upward—striking the assassin's wrist.
Crack!
Bone snapped. A scream tore the night. The dagger flew free, burying into the ground.
For the first time, Xu Zhu's killing intent erupted.
"Overlord Spear, is it?"
His voice was cold iron in the night.
"Tell your master—Residual Blood… does not die."
The stick swung, charged with that razor's-edge power, slamming across the assassin's throat. Blood splattered.
…
When it was over, silence clung to the bonfire-lit square.
Fatty Third gawked, words catching in his throat, finally blurting: "Big bro… you really are insane."
Ling Xue, sword sheathed, stood tall, eyes resolute: "No. He's not insane. He just lives clearer than anyone."
Xu Zhu exhaled slowly, leaning his stick against the ground, his shadow stretched long.
That night, all knew:
The Residual Blood Maniac was not just a dungeon tale.
He had already been set against the top guild itself.