Martial King's Retired Life

Volume 11 Chapter 122 Dragon Blood

The fireball wasn’t conjured from the same energy cultivated as a martial artist, but it would take someone of Divine Realm status to produce it. If it so much as grazed someone’s skin, it’d instantly leave nothing but blackened “skin”.

Shen Yiren’s offence couldn’t hold a candle to Gewu’s, and defending his offence was out of the question. Ming Feizhen couldn’t even walk on his own. Thus, the only hope she had was to never let Gewu have the chance to mount an offence.

Right as Shen Yiren contracted her muscles to go in, Ming Feizhen gently pulled on the bottom of her robe. “He’s nothing. Don’t bother with him,” Ming Feizhen asserted.

Shen Yiren wrinkled her nose, unable to put her finger on what Ming Feizhen was up to. “… You stay where you are. The next time you get in the way, I’ll slap you,” claimed Shen Yiren, hands still where they were.

Ming Feizhen tugged Shen Yiren’s robe again. “Boss, come sit down. You haven’t had any shut eye for days. Why do you want to fight when you’re tired?”

“What are you doing? Do you not realise h-”

“I know. He’s just another grunt you can hire for less than a sock.” Ming Feizhen gestured for Shen Yiren to sit down with his free hand.

Shen Yiren sighed, then stole a gander of bewildered Gewu. She sighed again, set her sword down and joined Ming Feizhen on the ground. “Always up to some crazy stuff.”

Ming Feizhen grinned, then pointed to a forest nearby. “Check out this archaic city’s scenery. It’s still quite aesthetically pleasing despite the damage.”

“… Ming Feizhen, you really are trying to slight this old one.” Gewu spawned a lightning field with a seven centimetres radius around him. As if his lightning zapped oxygen out of existence, the air in the vicinity thinned out. The lightning spread to his fireball, rotating his fireball.

Though she could tell Gewu would erase them in one go with that much energy, there wasn’t a tinge of fear in Shen Yiren’s eyes.

“I’ve been so occupied with fighting that I haven’t had time to peacefully take in the beauty of the scenery.”

“Boss, you just accused me of not caring about you.”

“Hmm?”

“I have an objection.”

Ming Feizhen lifted Shen Yiren’s left hand, then slid her sleeve down a tad to expose the scar on her wrist - courtesy of A-Lan. Had Ming Feizhen been around, he could’ve remedied the damage with celestial spider silk and his medical knowledge because even he would only have twenty-four hours to treat it. Alas, she ended up floating in water for days; she couldn’t even hold chopsticks with her left hand at the moment.

“What are you doing?” Shen Yiren asked.

“You trust me?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You’re not trustworthy.”

“You believe I can heal your injury?”

“No.”

“Raise my salary if I do?”

“No.”

“I’m going to slice this spot. You okay with that?”

Shen Yiren smirked as she extended her wrist toward Ming Feizhen, almost impelling him to tap her on the nose with a finger.

Subsequent to a deep inhale, Ming Feizhen picked up Yujing. “Here I go.”

In spite of his weakness, Ming Feizhen’s accuracy wasn’t sacrificed. Once he pulled the sword out from the sliced scar, no blood spilt. He popped off the cork of a porcelain vial, assailing Shen Yiren’s nose with a strong smell.

“Bear with it.”

Shen Yiren softly exhaled as part of her routine to prepare herself mentally. Ming Feizhen guzzled the vial, much to Shen Yiren’s confusion. After all, weren’t the victims supposed to take the antidote? What was she supposed to bear with if he was the one drinking it?

Shen Yiren had yet to work out what she had to bear with when Ming Feizhen pressed his lips up against the cut he opened. Before she could make heads or tails of the situation, she felt her wrist go numb. As more of the liquid entered the aperture in her wrist, the sensation coursed through other parts of her body.

“Hmm!”