High Martial: I Use Everything as Swords

[Sword Qi Release—Crimson Blood Six-Shot!]

Han Feng’s finger rested lightly on the trigger.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!

A six-shot burst!

This time, they weren’t ordinary shells.

The surface of each 30mm shell was enveloped in a tangible, blood-red casing visible to the naked eye!

It was "Sword Qi," compressed to its absolute limit, each one formed by consuming nearly a hundred points of Qi Blood!

Six crimson shells shot out from the barrel.

They traced six distinct and bizarre arcs through the air.

Like six living, bloodthirsty vipers.

With absolute precision, they maneuvered around every piece of its armored plating.

They had only one target—the basketball-sized wound blasted open by the missile!

THWIP THWIP THWIP THWIP THWIP THWIP!

There was no violent explosion.

Only the six heart-stoppingly dull thuds of sharp blades sinking into flesh.

The six shells plunged into its body like six red-hot knives slicing through butter.

All of them burrowed deep inside the Black Iron Earth Dragon.

Their target was its most vulnerable and vital point: the subpharyngeal ganglion!

BOOM—!

The violent Sword Qi detonated simultaneously within its body!

Time seemed to freeze at that moment.

The Black Iron Earth Dragon’s massive body suddenly went rigid.

Its writhing came to an abrupt halt.

The next second, as if all its bones had been removed, it collapsed limply to the ground.

It went completely silent.

Inside the cockpit.

The immense inertia slammed Han Feng back into his seat.

His chest heaved, each breath bringing a searing pain.

The extreme maneuvers had drained all his strength.

Drenched in sweat, he looked as if he’d just been pulled out of the water.

On the system panel, his Qi Blood Value had plummeted to a low of less than one hundred points.

The number glowed a glaring, near-death red.

But he had won.

The comms channel was dead silent.

"It’s... over just like that?"

Wang Meng’s voice was dreamlike, filled with disbelief.

"It’s over."

Zhang Hao’s voice was equally filled with shock.

He stared intently at the static image on the screen, unable to calm down for a long time.

The next second, Lei Zhen’s coarse, wild laughter echoed throughout the channel.

"Hahahaha!"

"Good!"

"Good kid!"

"Well done!"

"You saved this old man at least thirty acres of wheat!"

"That ten-thousand-point red envelope, I’ll add another five thousand!"

The shriek of the turbojet engines spooled down.

The heavy landing gear slammed onto the reinforced concrete of the landing pad, letting out a teeth-grinding thud.

The Gray Donkey had returned to its nest.

The ground crew immediately rushed over with fire extinguishers and coolant.

But they were shocked to find that the normally clumsy support craft didn’t even have a scratch on its paint.

Aside from the muzzle of the Machine Cannon, which still glowed a dark red that distorted the air, the fuselage was covered in a foul-smelling, yellowish-brown body fluid.

The canopy slid open.

Han Feng took off his helmet and exhaled a ragged breath that smelled of blood.

’It feels good to be alive.’

But he immediately felt a heart-wrenching pang of regret.

That short burst of extreme exertion just now had cost him a full ten Middle Tier Recovery Potions.

Two thousand five hundred Contribution Points, just like that, down the hatch.

And that wasn’t even counting the cost of the Machine Cannon ammunition.

’This is burning way too much money.’

Han Feng muttered as he jumped down from the aircraft.

’Fortunately, not all that money was wasted. At least some of it has been converted into Cultivation.’

Not far away, the corpse of the Black Iron Earth Dragon lay sprawled motionless at the edge of the wheat field.

Its massive body, illuminated by dozens of searchlights, looked like a silent, black hillock.

The air was thick with a strange, mixed odor of acrid stench and burnt foulness.

It was the smell of the dragon’s body fluids reacting with metal, so pungent it made one’s eyes water.

Captain Zhang Hao was crouching by the wound on the dragon’s neck, a strange expression on his face.

Wang Meng approached, shouldering his Giant Axe.

"Captain, figured anything out?"

he asked in his booming voice.

"Aren’t these things notoriously hard to kill?"

"How did that kid Han Feng pull it off?"

Zhang Hao didn’t answer right away, merely gesturing for Wang Meng to see for himself.

It was the basketball-sized bloody hole, the very gap Zhang Hao had blasted open earlier with a missile.

Only now, the inside of the wound was a paste of flesh, shattered bone, and scorched nerve tissue.

It resembled a pot of congealed, foul-smelling gruel.

Wang Meng switched on his tactical flashlight, shined it inside, and froze.

"This trajectory is all wrong..."

Although Wang Meng’s fighting style was crude, as an elite Pilot, he still had basic knowledge.

"The missile struck from above. That makes sense."

"But the fatal wound is in the subpharyngeal ganglion, which is hidden beneath the dragon’s vertebrae."

He snapped his head up, looking at Han Feng—who was chugging water not far away—as if he were seeing a ghost.

"Han Feng was diving and shooting from the air. The bullets should have gone straight in."

"How could they have bypassed the shattered bone and muscle in front, then made a sharp ninety-degree turn?"

"And burrowed all the way down as if they had eyes?"

Several other B Level Students who had passed the assessment with them also gathered around.

Their scalps tingled as they stared at the bizarre wound.

"This is insane. How can a fixed machine cannon fire in an arc?"

"And six consecutive hits at that?"

"Even with the legendary, long-lost ’Gun Fighting Technique,’ that’s done with a pistol at close range by flicking your wrist."

"You’re flying a plane that weighs over ten tons. You try flicking that for me to see!"

"Did our shells grow a mind of their own or something?"

Han Feng gulped down more than half the bottle of water.

Facing the crowd’s probing gazes, he had already prepared his excuse.

"Probably ricochets."

He walked over, his expression both innocent and calm.

"This big bug’s bones are too hard. I didn’t expect to get so lucky."

"The bullets must have bounced off the bones inside its body a few times and happened to hit a vital spot."

He spread his hands and concluded.

"It’s what they call fool’s luck."

Ricochets?

Luck?

Six bullets, all following the same ricochet trajectory due to "luck"?

And all of them precisely hitting the same fragile nerve ganglion?

Like hell anyone would believe that!

Zhang Hao’s gaze lingered on Han Feng’s face for a full three seconds, but he didn’t expose the lie.

Everyone had their secrets.

Especially in this era of Spiritual Power resurgence, where mutated Talents came in all shapes and sizes.

As long as Han Feng was on their side, the stronger his methods, the better.

"Alright, stop puzzling over it."

Zhang Hao stood up and brushed the filth from his hands.

"Luck is a part of skill."

"If it weren’t for Han Feng tonight, Director Lei’s hundreds of acres of Purple Crystal Wheat Fields would have been turned into a wasteland."

"We might have even had to resort to the ’Earth Nail’ protocol, and the losses then would have been astronomical."

Just as he finished speaking, a hearty laugh echoed from the distance.

"Well said!"

"Dammit, luck is a skill too!"

Lei Zhen strode over like a meteor.

His mechanical prosthesis, glinting with a cold metallic light, stamped out a heavy rhythm on the ground.

Zhou Ping followed behind him.

The chubby deputy director was currently looking with a pained expression at the completely trashed wheat field.

The calculator in his hand was being pressed so furiously it looked like it might start smoking.

"Director Lei."

The students all greeted him.

Lei Zhen waved his hand dismissively and walked straight up to Han Feng.

His fan-like hand clapped heavily on Han Feng’s shoulder twice.

THWACK!

THWACK!

Han Feng felt half his body go numb and nearly lost his footing.

"Good kid, you’ve really got some skills."

Lei Zhen grinned, revealing two rows of white teeth.

"You said three minutes, and you meant it. This big bug is dead as a doornail."

"You saved this old man at least a million in repair costs."