American Comics: Tales of Cultivator

Chapter 90: Ambush, A Hundred Ghosts

Frank gave an order, and the twelve Gunners simultaneously fired the Artillery Shells in their hands.

Bang bang bang...! The sound of shells firing rang out in unison...

The piercing roar of artillery echoed in the air, followed by waves of rumbling explosions from deep within the distant Forest Sea.

Without waiting to hear the artillery roar, the twelve Gunners swiftly and steadily received another Artillery Shell from beside them.

Load, fire.

In two minutes, three rounds of shelling, a total of 120 shells were all unleashed.

After firing all the shells they carried, Frank directly ordered them to abandon the artillery. All soldiers put on night vision goggles, checked their equipment, and chambered a round.

More than a dozen Gray-White Smoke trails guided them deeper into the Forest Sea.

......

"Baka!"

Hearing the artillery stop, Murakami, who had been hiding in a large tree hollow to avoid the shelling, crawled out.

Shattered Wooden Houses, towering firelight, wails everywhere, and his heavily wounded and dead Subordinates.

Seeing this scene of devastation, Murakami cursed in impotent rage, swinging his Katana at the large tree beside him.

The large tree, thick enough for one person to embrace, was forcefully cut a third of the way through with a single swing.

"Baka, someone! Go see if Bakuto and the others are still alive?"

Pulling out his Katana, Murakami angrily pointed his Katana at the Wooden House that had been blasted into a Deep Pit and roared.

Murakami's roar echoed through the Training Base. Aside from the crackling sound of burning trees, the entire Base was abnormally quiet, even the air was abnormally quiet.

A few Black-clothed Ninjas who had miraculously survived the aftermath of the explosion stood dumbfounded in place, as if they hadn't heard Murakami.

"Baka!"

Murakami, holding his Katana, swung it out in anger. The head of the Black-clothed Ninja closest to him was directly severed with a single strike.

Blood gushed out from the Black-clothed Ninja's neck like a fountain, but even after his head was cut off, the Black-clothed Ninja's body remained standing upright in place.

Before Murakami could react, the heads of several Black-clothed Ninjas around him simultaneously twisted ninety degrees. Their faces were ashen, and they stared straight at him.

...…

"Pfft pfft pfft"

A group of over thirty people, walking in the dense forest in groups of three, with each group less than three meters apart.

In the quiet environment, no one spoke. The only sound was that of combat boots stepping on dry leaves.

At the very front of the group, a trail of Gray-White Smoke suddenly drifted towards a large tree.

Without any hesitation, the three leading soldiers raised their guns and fired.

The sound of silenced carbines echoed through the forest. Immediately after, several streams of blood gushed out from the trunk of the large tree like trickling water.

Walking up to the large tree, a soldier lifted his foot and kicked it. A section of bark as tall as a person tilted sideways, revealing the Black-clothed Ninja behind it, who had been almost shot into a sieve.

A soldier bent down to check him. After taking out a communicator, he made an OK gesture to his companions.

The group continued forward.

The dense jungle was piled high with fallen leaves. Because sunlight rarely reached here year-round, only the top layer of accumulated leaves was dry; the ground beneath was damp, nourishing a large number of mosquitoes and grasshoppers.

Combat boots sank halfway into the leaves when stepped on. Walking in this environment, the group also had to guard against sneak attacks from The Hand's stationed Ninjas.

"Stop!"

The three leading soldiers silently made a stop gesture.

The rustling sound of stepping on leaves abruptly stopped.

The Black-clothed Ninja curled up beneath the leaves couldn't help but twitch his ears.

Forcing down the urge to peek out and observe, he regulated his breathing, trying his best to avoid making any noise. What he didn't expect was that above the layers of leaves concealing him, a mass of Gray-White Smoke was continuously circling.

This mass of Gray-White Smoke seemed afraid that others wouldn't see clearly, so it deliberately transformed into a downward-pointing gray-white smoke arrowhead.

"Pfft pfft pfft pfft pfft..."

Without a word, the three leading soldiers simultaneously raised their guns.

No sound came from the pile of leaves, but the uppermost leaves were also soaked by the seeping fresh blood.

...…

As Frank walked along, he saw The Hand Ninjas' various assassination methods.

Some hid inside tree bark, disguised as trees; some lurked in the water holding hollow reeds; some lay on treetops, disguised as branches.

Some of these disguises were so effective that even he wouldn't have been able to distinguish them if not for the spirits of the dead guiding the way.

But with more than a dozen Fierce Soul Undead present, these Ambush Ninjas were like street lamps in the dark night; no matter how they hid, it was useless.

After walking over three kilometers, Frank and his group cleared seven waves of ambush before finally seeing a camouflaged Wooden House.

"This should be it!" Frank raised his hand and made a tactical maneuver.

The soldiers all bent low and crept forward.

"No one!"

"Still no one!"

After passing four or five Wooden Houses in a row, all of them were empty, with not a single person in sight.

Finally, the group arrived before an open Training Ground. The crackling burning trees, the ruin-like Wooden Houses, and the thick gunsmoke in the air.

This made Frank and his group realize they had reached the center of the shelling.

At this moment, the scene here was a complete mess.

More than a dozen Black-clothed Ninjas lay scattered on the ground, their bodies covered in wounds from blade slashes. Some heads had rolled four or five meters away.

Around the corpses, a Middle-aged Man wearing a Kimono was continuously hacking and slashing wildly at his surroundings with a Katana.

His hoarse expression and every strenuous swing of the blade seemed to use up all his strength.

Even the two Geta he was wearing on his feet had long since been kicked off somewhere unknown.

But to the soldiers, the Middle-aged Man's actions looked like he was just madly hacking at the surrounding air.

Frank held the Small Banner in his hand. He clearly saw Murakami and the real scene around him.

At least six Fierce Soul Undead were crawling on Murakami's body.

One was riding on his back, whispering in his ear. Two were dragging his feet, and two were pulling his hands.

And another one was covering his eyes.

Murakami couldn't see them, but he could feel his body growing increasingly weak. He desperately swung his Katana, mobilizing the Qi and Blood throughout his body.

The abundant Yang Qi in his body did indeed burn away a few Fierce Souls, but he was surrounded by hundreds of Fierce Souls.

One was forced back, and then two more pounced.

Murakami's body's Qi and Blood were gradually fading as time and energy drained away.

Finally, Murakami's legs gave out. Exhausted, the Katana in his hand fell to the side.

The next moment, hundreds of Fierce Soul Undead, seeing their chance, swarmed forward.

Hundreds of trails of Gray-White Smoke submerged Murakami.

Within the misty White Smoke, came the sound of sucking Yang Qi and gnawing flesh and blood, mixed with chilling ghost laughter.

When the Gray-White Smoke dispersed, only a white bone that had been completely gnawed clean was left on the grass.

(End of chapter)