Chapter Fifty-Eight: A Desperate Thrust

Clang! Sparks flew in all directions. The azure longsword struck the waist of the giant fire ant, yet the sound that rang out was akin to metal clashing against stone. The sword in her hand was jarred free, whistling in an arc through the air before plunging into the stream, sending up a spray of water. The web between her thumb and forefinger was torn, blood gushing out. Wind Ke’er gasped in pain, cried out, and fell heavily onto her backside.

As for the giant fire ant, it seemed utterly unfazed. It turned around, its mandibles snapping, and leapt at her with a sudden motion. With a toss of its head, its two antennae—each over a foot long—lashed out like twin whips.

“Damn!” Wind Ke’er rolled desperately along the ground, barely evading the blow.

But before she could catch her breath, in the blink of an eye, the giant fire ant pounced again! Its body was over a foot long, yet it moved with far greater agility than the infamous white-browed tiger of Jingyang Ridge.

Had this happened before she entered the forest, Wind Ke’er would not have dodged even the first strike. Fortunately, after more than ten days of relentless, hellish training, her agility, reaction speed, combat experience, and mental fortitude had all improved by leaps and bounds.

The situation was critical—truly a moment when disaster hung by a thread. And yet, in such moments, one must remain calm, not panic. Wind Ke’er braced her right hand on the ground, forcing herself upright, her clothes brushing past the whistling antenna.

All the while, her mind was racing. That last strike had given her a clear understanding of the creature’s resilience: its abilities surpassed those of the lesser fire ants many times over, its entire body as hard as iron, like a living diamond—no weakness in sight.

But wait—was there truly no weakness? No creature is perfect, no gold flawless. However strong, every being must have a fatal flaw left by the hand of creation. Her gaze landed on the inky vertical pupil at the center of the giant fire ant’s brow. Wind Ke’er’s suspicions deepened.

No sooner had this thought flashed through her mind than the giant fire ant charged for a third attack, wind and dust swirling around it.

She hesitated not for an instant. Wind Ke’er’s mind sharpened. She dropped to one knee, aiming straight for the narrow vertical pupil no larger than a finger joint in the middle of the creature’s forehead, and raised her right hand: “Ice Spike!”

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—three ice spikes spun forth, deadly and direct, targeting the vertical pupil.

But the giant fire ant was even more formidable than imagined. Its two antennae swept left and right, deftly deflecting the first two ice spikes. The third, it neither dodged nor blocked; instead, it opened its jaws and caught it in its mouth, and with a roll of its long tongue, chewed it into pulp with a series of crisp snaps.

Its antennae twitched with excitement, as if to say, “Delicious!” Having tasted the sweetness, the damn creature grew even more eager, springing forward with all six legs at an even greater speed, impatient to close the distance.

It was as swift as lightning.

Wind Ke’er had no way to dodge.

Death seemed inevitable. Since there was no escape, she steeled herself, gripped her only remaining weapon—a dagger—in both hands, and faced the charging fire ant head-on. She aimed once more for the vertical pupil, closed her eyes, and thrust forward with all her might.

In a contest of strength and will, the one willing to risk all prevails.

With a sickening squelch, Wind Ke’er heard the dagger pierce flesh. Immediately, warm viscous fluid spattered over her hands.

A searing current of air struck her abdomen!

When the dust settled, the battle was over.

The roaring wind had died. One, two… leaves, lifted by the gusts, floated gently down to rest on her head and shoulders.

She had struck true!

Wind Ke’er opened her right eye in disbelief. But yes—she had succeeded! The dagger was buried deep in the vertical pupil. The giant fire ant was dead, well and truly.

Bang! In that instant, joy blossomed in her heart.

Without bothering to wipe the sweat from her face, Wind Ke’er sat cross-legged, dagger in hand, and began to dissect the giant fire ant on the spot.

According to the Encyclopedia, the creature was indeed called the giant fire ant, a first-tier fire-type demon beast. Its vertical pupil was, in fact, its fatal weakness.

Nearly every part of this creature was a treasure: its carapace was both hard and resilient, impervious to blades and arrows; its antennae, though no thicker than chopsticks, were sturdier than modern nylon rope; its six legs, each half a foot long and lined with fine, backward-curving barbs, were sharper even than her dagger; within its head lay a coin-shaped crimson demon crystal of the highest quality; its abdomen concealed a red, fish-bladder-like sac the size of half a palm, which, when squeezed, spouted orange-red flames; the flesh beneath the shell was snowy white and elastic, not unlike salmon. Wind Ke’er, having gone without meat for so long, drooled at the sight.

But was it edible? Recalling how she used to roast locusts with childhood friends in the compound, she decided to give it a try. She built a fire, cut the ant meat into small cubes of about three centimeters each, skewered them on thin twigs, sprinkled them with salt and the juice of a spicy fruit she’d discovered in the forest (this fruit, which she’d named herself due to a lack of references, was nontoxic, fiercely spicy, and resembled a modern cherry tomato), and carefully roasted them.

The aroma was intoxicating, reminiscent of grilled crucian carp. The surface turned a golden, crispy brown. Wind Ke’er, mouth watering uncontrollably, activated her spiritual energy and recited a calming chant as she cautiously took a bite.

Fresh!

Delicate!

It melted in her mouth!

It was simply ambrosial, even more delicious than wild king pheasant. She nearly swallowed her tongue in delight.

Only then did she confirm that the giant fire ant’s flesh was, in fact, nonpoisonous.

Gazing at the mist-shrouded bank across the stream, Wind Ke’er clenched her fist: Roar! Just for the sake of such delectable meat, she was determined to fight her way across!

After a satisfying feast, she finally remembered her azure longsword, still lost in the stream. She extended her spiritual sense, located the sword, and went to retrieve it.

Upon seeing the blade, her heart ached—there was a huge notch carved into it!

But at the same time, she had gained firsthand appreciation for the hardness of the giant fire ant’s shell. It seemed crafting armor from it would be extremely practical.

Unfortunately, the materials were limited. Moreover, the shell was so tough that neither dagger nor sword could pierce it. After nearly three hours of effort, she finally managed to fashion a pair of bracers from two pieces of shell and two antennae.

They were purple-red in color, lightweight and breathable, simple yet elegant in style, and, most importantly, incredibly sturdy! What’s more, with these three-inch-wide bracers on her arms, all the lesser fire ants in her vicinity scattered at her approach. Thus, all the jangling chains of little fire ant shells she’d been wearing could finally be retired. Tearing off those long chains, Wind Ke’er felt instantly refreshed, lifting her head to the sky and letting out a joyful cry: “So comfortable—!”

To be safe, she also tossed some scraps of shell and meat from the giant fire ant across the stream. The giant fire ants on the other side emerged, but only approached within a meter, twitched their antennae, and then withdrew one by one.

Excellent. Though giant fire ants were fond of eating their smaller counterparts, they did not prey on each other. This meant her new bracers now served another purpose.

“Alright, big fellas, here I come!” Wind Ke’er gripped her notched sword, twirled it, and with a great stride, leapt easily across the five-meter-wide stream, landing steadily on the far bank.

Sure enough, several giant fire ants poked their heads out from the grass, but after a glance at her, quickly withdrew.

What lay beyond the grass was a world she longed to explore. Wind Ke’er took a deep breath and used her sword to part the nearest thicket.

“Great-aunt, the entrance is gone!” Outside the Forest of Ten Thousand Ants, Qin Jun paced anxiously, like an ant on a hot pan. He hurriedly sent a transmission talisman, calling for Qin Hanyan’s help.

That day, Qin Ruhua, nine months pregnant, had come to rescue someone—but in the attempt, she went into labor. Luckily, Qin Hanyan arrived in time to carry her back to the inner sect.

Qin Hanyan had intended to settle her safely and then return to the forest to search for the missing person. But fate had other plans. Cultivation is, after all, a battle against the heavens. Cultivators enjoy bodies far superior to ordinary folk, but in matters of childbirth, they are often at a disadvantage compared to mundane women. The higher a female cultivator’s rank, the greater the peril of childbirth. Thus, most female cultivators who reach the Core Formation stage focus solely on cultivation and abandon thoughts of bearing children.

Qin Ruhua was an exception among exceptions. For a female cultivator to bear three children was rare indeed, yet she, as if possessed, had continued even into her third century, vowing not to stop until she had a daughter.

This time, the difficult labor placed both mother and child in grave danger. With two lives at stake, there could be no delay. Midwives and protectors were summoned; Qin Hanyan dashed about like a spinning top for two days and nights, utterly forgetting the issue of the forest.

At last, after a prolonged struggle, Qin Ruhua gave birth to a daughter. The midwife barely had time to announce the news before Qin Ruhua, drenched in sweat yet smiling, fainted away before she could even glimpse her newborn.

Qin Ruhua’s mother had long since passed away. As her aunt, Qin Hanyan had to assume all the responsibilities of a grandmother—caring for both mother and child, and receiving a stream of relatives and friends who came to offer congratulations—leaving her with no time to recall the person lost in the forest.

Only when Qin Jun returned from his retreat and inquired after his younger brother did Qin Hanyan slap her forehead and exclaim, “Oh no!” The boy was still trapped in the Forest of Ten Thousand Ants for his reflection. After the brush with death during Qin Ruhua’s childbirth, she dared not disturb her, and instead quietly drew Qin Jun aside, handing him her token and instructing him to go immediately to the outer sect and seek out Shen Ping—say nothing, just open the forest’s barrier and retrieve the boy.

Rescuing someone is a matter of life and death; Qin Jun dared not delay. Taking the token, he found Shen Ping as fast as possible and explained the situation.

Shen Ping did not hesitate, hurrying with him to the forest’s entrance, though his heart was uneasy: it had already been nearly ten days… Heaven help us, let him still be alive.

Yet in this short time, something extraordinary had happened at the forest’s edge. The Forest of Ten Thousand Ants was a forbidden zone; for over five hundred years, no one had entered. But to keep track of the entrance, each generation’s outer sect steward would make periodic checks, ensuring the entryway remained a distinct V-shaped gap.

Now, however, the gap was gone. Everywhere one looked, ancient trees towered skyward.

(To be continued)