Chapter Fifty-Six: The Blade Warrior

The pain, sharp and searing, intensified as his control over his body grew; with heightened sensitivity came an agony unlike anything Lei Ming had ever experienced. In the most popular terms of the day, it was akin to the pain of giving birth ten times at once or something similar to the crushing agony of shattered eggs. Never before had he felt pain with such detail; he could distinctly sense the ache of every cell being torn apart, the blazing stretch and pull, mingled with a sour, stinging agony.

He felt the wound being tugged and twisted, then gradually connecting together, discarding damaged cells as it healed. Just as he was enduring the soul-piercing pain, a wave of tingling itch swept over him—an intense, almost unbearable itch.

Lei Ming clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to scratch. By now, he understood he possessed the power to heal wounds rapidly; the gash on his wrist was sprouting new flesh at a pace visible to the naked eye. The scab that had formed peeled off like a sheet of paper, and the skin beneath was smooth and flawless, save for a slightly lighter shade—no trace remained of the bloodied injury.

Yet something felt amiss. With heightened senses, Lei Ming detected a thread of black energy lingering around his wrist. He stared intently at the spot, but nothing was visible; still, the sensation was undeniable. He was certain that the blade’s dark, smoky energy had left a web-thin strand coiling there, invisible and intangible—a line of energy rather than a physical object.

He guided a thread of white energy from his heart to approach the black strand, cautious not to use too much. He feared the black energy might retreat into the blade, or that the white might devour the black, for he sensed something mysterious about the smoky energy. The white energy thread advanced slowly along his meridians, drawing near the black strand. The moment they touched, they fused together, startling Lei Ming. He tried to retract the white thread, but it was impossible to break their bond; they had become one.

Through the energy thread, Lei Ming sensed the other end of the black strand anchored to the wicked blade, saturated with sinister impulses and murderous intent—so concentrated that it could drive someone to abandon all hope and seek self-destruction.

Lei Ming gently manipulated the black thread with the white, guiding the blade. With the slightest command, the blade sliced through the air, emitting a resonant hum like a sword being drawn, a sound reminiscent of a dragon’s roar. A shadow flashed, and the table before him was cleanly severed into countless tiny fragments.

“Amazing! It’s as easy as moving my own arm—point and strike, with unparalleled precision. This is even more impressive than the legendary sword immortals. As the saying goes, great power comes with great responsibility. Now that I have such extraordinary abilities, I ought to become a hero like Spider-Man or Iron Man, protecting the city and making the most of this hard-won power.”

Lei Ming opened his hand, and the blade, still exuding black smoke, settled quietly into his palm. On its surface was a black logo shaped like a fried fish. He flicked the blade and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

“What should I call myself? Blade Hero? That sounds too mundane, like a chef slicing fish. Sword Hero? That’s too martial arts-themed, and besides, my weapon’s not a sword. Blade Warrior? No, that feels odd. Perhaps I’ll just be Blade Warrior—it's not exactly plagiarism, and after all, I wield the blade’s edge, even if it’s a razor blade. It works. From now on, I’ll be Blade Warrior!”

As he mopped the floor, Lei Ming muttered to himself for a long while before settling on his new heroic moniker: “Blade Warrior.”

After cleaning up, his stomach rumbled with hunger. The blood loss and wrist injury had drained him; an ordinary person would have been bedridden for weeks.

Searching through his rental apartment, Lei Ming found only a carrot, a pack of opened noodles, a sausage, and a few eggs. So, noodles it was. He started the stove, boiled water, and, mimicking TV chefs, prepared the carrot and sausage. Then, he manipulated the blade; a flash of black light, and carrot shreds and sausage slices fell perfectly into the pot—every strand and slice uniform, the sausage pieces as thin as cicada wings, almost transparent. He’d cut them too thin; once boiled, they would dissolve beyond retrieval.

“My knife skills are far superior to the beef noodle shop’s meat slicer—if I pushed it to the limit, I could probably produce beef slices of extreme thinness!” Lei Ming drained the noodles, added a bit of chili sauce, and devoured them hungrily. Perhaps it was the long hunger, but this ordinary bowl of noodles tasted exceptionally delicious. In no time, he finished it all, breaking out in a sweat.

After tidying up, Lei Ming stepped outside, ready to embark on his city hero plan. But even heroes need to eat. For the sake of survival, he resolved never again to aim too high; first, he needed a job to put food on the table, or else he’d starve to death before he could become a hero.

The labor market was out of the question—those jobs all required experience or higher education, and his degree from a lesser-known university wouldn’t attract any employers.

“Forget it, maybe I’ll do manual labor. No, I could slice vegetables or beef—at that, I dare say I’m second to none!” Lei Ming was delighted; perhaps he could use his special ability to find work. What was hard for others would be effortless for him—just commanding the blade would suffice.

Without hesitation, Lei Ming rushed to the community bulletin board to check job postings. No vegetable-slicing jobs appeared, but he was distracted by an ad for Miss Bao's breast enhancement clinic. Whoever chose that image was a master of temptation. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Lei Ming discreetly pocketed a flyer.