The jōnin employed a relentless strategy, willing to sacrifice eight hundred of his own forces for every thousand enemies he defeated—he ignored the non-lethal blows, knocking down several ninjas in succession. Two junior jōnin were deeply distressed. In such a short span of time, they had already lost dozens of skilled warriors. Even if they managed to secure Qin Feng’s life and a substantial reward, the outcome would still feel unsatisfactory. They exchanged glances and simultaneously shouted, “Poison!” The shaman laughed heartily, “Unrealistic! Do you not know that our shaman lineage is the very ancestor of poison arts? Then let me see just what kind of poison you can muster!” As he spoke, he struck a mid-level ninja’s skull with his bone staff, shattering it. Five senior mid-level ninjas arranged themselves into a specific formation. As the formation rotated, the first one cried out, “Golden Ninja Technique!” The second immediately responded with, “Wood Ninja Technique,” followed by the third, and so on, until the last one declared, “Earth Ninja Technique.” Qin Feng stared wide-eyed, having nearly fallen for this very trick last night. Now he felt an unusual sense of animosity—like enemies meeting and instantly turning hostile. He suppressed his instinct to intervene and instead carefully observed each of their details. Suddenly, all five of them launched hand-thrown daggers of different colors. Now turning to Wuli, he had no idea he had been hit. With a boastful smile, he said, "Ninjas—yours are simply no match for mine. If you'd like to withdraw, I can give you a chance, let it go, completely forgive you, hahaha!" The two junior upper-ninjas chuckled, and their laughter carried a deep, thoughtful tone. Wuli, however, suddenly found himself unable to continue. He shook his head vigorously, and his gaze no longer sharp as it had been. Realizing something was amiss, he bolted for it. The ninjas, as if anticipating this very move, immediately began to pursue. One senior upper-ninja and three mid-level ninjas remained behind, walking steadily toward Qinfeng. In their estimation, Qinfeng had already been severely injured, and four of them would be more than enough to handle the situation—especially with the senior upper-ninja on board. The fleeing figure and the pursuers soon disappeared from sight. Qinfeng watched the four approaching with deliberate intent, thinking to himself: You're all volunteering to die. If I don't take your lives, I'd truly be letting down the Chinese people. He waved his hand, and the bomb that had appeared at Fujimura Shun-nan's villa last night shot out into the air—crafted from six 155mm shells and a bundle of high-grade TNT, its explosive power was truly formidable. The four of them all froze, first needing to determine what exactly was heading toward them. Qin, the young lord, had already taken refuge inside the small tripod. It was precisely these seemingly insignificant reactions that saved his life—otherwise, he would have joined his three companions in the afterworld. Though he had survived, he was severely wounded, the sword through his chest nearly piercing his heart. He spoke: "You... you were pretending to be injured!" "Finally, someone who understands. But now that you've realized it, it's already too late," Qin the Young smiled. "You will be my first Jounin to fall. You should feel honored." "Do you really think you can kill me?" The ninja suddenly dropped his Japanese sword, his voice steady. "I wish to die with dignity. Come, then, and cut off my head. I want it to be your hands that do the deed." "As you wish." Qin extended his hand, and the flying sword returned to his grasp. He stepped forward. The ninja's face turned ashen, his earlier fervor now completely extinguished. Only Qin Feng couldn't figure it out—why would he choose to wait passively and die? Wasn't there some hidden scheme at play? Indeed, he saw a subtle, carefully concealed joy in the other's eyes. NND, it's a trap all along—tricking me into believing it was just a straightforward encounter. Intentionally, he staggered, letting his flying sword fly out of his hand, and swiftly severed the opponent's head. Boom— The ninja's body suddenly exploded, fragments of flesh, blood droplets, and bone shavings scattering in all directions. Qin, the young lord, quickly knelt to shield himself, but a piece of flesh still landed on his shoe. The leather military boots began to corrode immediately. Good heavens, that was quite ruthless. Thankfully, I'd kept a watchful eye—otherwise, I'd have taken another hit. I wonder how the old shaman-witch is faring—having been poisoned by the Five Elements and now being pursued by enemies. He must be in serious trouble. Well, be it so—death is the cleanest ending. Change your shoes right away. In just a few seconds, the shoes have already been corroded down to mere rubber soles. Look around—you'll see the trees and grass turned yellow and withered, even the stones have been deeply eroded. He takes off on his flying sword toward the hospital where Cleara is. The hospital corridors are in disarray: two doctors are sitting on the floor, bleeding heavily, receiving emergency treatment, while someone is on the phone calling for help. "What happened?" Qin Sha asks. "It's terrible," replies a nurse. "A group of black-robed people stormed in moments ago, ignoring our resistance, and took Miss Cleara away, injuring our doctors as well!" "What?" he exclaims, eyes widening. "When did this happen? In which direction did they go?" The nurse was startled but still told the truth: "The incident happened just ten minutes ago. Those people drove four business vehicles northward. Sir, please don't worry—we've already called the police. They'll surely intercept them on the road!" Mao, if I believed the police, I'd go by their surname. He rushed out of the hospital as fast as he could, not caring whether anyone saw him, and immediately mounted his flying sword to take off into the sky. In ten minutes, even at full speed, a car would only cover twenty or thirty kilometers—so we should be able to catch up.