Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 99

No one dares to make a sound. The sunlight falls on their bodies, but no one feels a trace of warmth.

The light is pale and cold, making cold sweat stream uncontrollably.

The guards look as if their tongues have been collectively ripped out. Horrified, they stare at their fallen comrade.

No one understands what just happened. They don’t even have time to resist or intervene. They can only watch helplessly as that strange little girl kicks the guard blocking her into the air, then straddles him at an inhuman speed. Her fists—small and seemingly harmless—rain down on the guard’s face again and again.

Just brute force alone sends blood splattering everywhere.

It all happens in the blink of an eye. No one can see clearly how her fists fall—they’re nothing but afterimages.

When she gets off the guard and turns her head, her face is covered in blood. She licks a drop from her lips, her eyes half-closed in satisfaction. At least she remembers that this is Chen Hou’s man. She doesn’t kill him outright; she only leaves him barely breathing.

The girl glances at them again, her red eyes glowing seductively. “Can you take me over now? You.” Sarah points at the guard whose shoulders she climbed over. “Come and carry me. Take me there directly.”

The guard swallows hard.

Sarah glares at him, and he immediately drops to the ground. Slowly, he gets up, turns his back to her, and squats down.

Sarah climbs onto his back and pats his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Once the guard stands, Sarah looks at those who are still frozen in place. She smiles at them, her canine teeth gleaming coldly. “You can go ahead and call for help, but…”

She doesn’t finish her words, choosing to remain silent.

The guards, drenched in sweat, watch as Sarah is carried away. Only then do they seem to come to their senses, slumping to the ground. Several are soaked with cold sweat, glancing at one another with fear in their eyes.

They sit in stunned silence for what feels like an eternity before one of them finally speaks.

“Sergeant!” They rush to the guard who has been beaten senseless, barely breathing.

The sergeant is their leader, the one who led them through this chaotic encounter.

“What do we do now?” someone asks.

The rest exchange uneasy glances. One whispers, “We should have stopped her with our lives…”

They are gatekeepers. No matter who comes through the gate, they are meant to stop them at all costs. But not only do they fail to resist, they let the intruder leave. If this is found out, it’ll be a capital offense.

The words hang in the air as several of them mutter almost in unison, “This matter…”

And they fall silent, none of them daring to speak the unspoken truth.

Finally, a newer guard can’t hold back and says, “That girl clearly isn’t human—probably some mountain demon or spirit. Our sergeant led us in resistance, but we were all knocked out. Naturally, we don’t know where she went, and there was no time to report to the section leader.”

“In that case, no injuries means no proof.” A guard looks at his comrades.

“Let’s fight, then!”

Sarah doesn’t know that she only strikes one of them, yet all four fall.

Sarah doesn’t actually make the guard carry her all the way. Before they leave the city wall, she has him point out the location to her. Being carried would make her an easy target, and she doesn’t want to be seen.

The guard’s courage is already broken. When she asks him where to go, he points in the direction of a house—much larger than the nearby mud huts. After confirming he hasn’t lied, she politely knocks him out with a hand chop and hides him to the side.

Sarah moves through the quiet streets and takes a detour on a deserted hillside. She then jumps onto the roof of the house.

“Come! Drink some wine!” A man with a broad square jaw sits in a hall filled with dozens of guests. In front of him is a wine jar and a steak. After taking a sip, he sighs, “You all heard that the one outside the pass is the marquis.”

The guests murmur among themselves, and the man speaks again. “If I let the marquis pass through, I’ll betray Zuotu. But if I don’t let him, I’ll betray the State of Chen. What do you think we should do?”

One guest speaks up loudly, “Zuotu controls the government now. The marquis’s coffin will be buried tomorrow, and the new marquis will take the throne soon. Letting the marquis pass is dangerous at this moment.”

“If we let him go, there will be chaos,” the guest continues seriously. “If the general truly cares for the State of Chen, he shouldn’t let the marquis pass.”

Another guest retorts, “That’s not the way, general. The country is in turmoil, and the marquis has many followers. If the general lets him through, he’ll help the marquis restore order, and—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Zhang Rong understands the implication.

The general guarding the pass holds an important position. Only those trusted by the king can do this job, but it’s a difficult one. The border is remote, and though merchants from other countries pass through, Chen is poor and the people have little. The general barely makes any money.

Zhang Rong doesn’t want to stay there for long. Zuotu has promised him that once the new king ascends the throne, he’ll be transferred back to the royal city. But now, Zhang Rong hesitates. Zuotu is a manipulator, and might later regret his promise. But if he turns to the king…

Another guest presses him. “General! Don’t hesitate. You’ve already made a promise to Zuotu. You can’t back out!”

“That’s being fickle!” another says.

The guest continues, “Now, both the general and Zuotu are prospering. If the general switches sides, it could be to his benefit. Zuotu is smart; he won’t dare mistreat the general after this.”

The guest presses again, “General, think carefully! Don’t change your mind!”

Zhang Rong clenches his lips. He and the marquis have known each other since childhood, and they are friends. But Zhang Rong’s family is a hereditary noble family. His father was the general who guarded the pass, and Zhang Rong inherited this position. The marquis trusted his father and trusts him as well.

The marquis treats him well. Every year, when ministers come to the palace, Zhang Rong has a seat. He is second only to Chen Yan. But that isn’t what Zhang Rong wants. He longs for freedom, for the easy life of noble children, free from the burdens of the border.

“Since I’ve promised Zuotu, it’s hard to back out,” Zhang Rong sighs. “The man outside is a villain, pretending to be our ancestor. Once we finish our wine, let’s have the general lead the troops out and eliminate him.”

He has decided which side to support—there can be no wavering. Chen Hou can’t be allowed to survive.

The guest who advises Zhang Rong to support the marquis falls silent. He curses Zhang Rong’s stupidity in his heart. Zuotu will surely deal with him later, but he doesn’t dare speak out. The guests in the room might be spies of Zuotu.

After the banquet, the guest decides to leave. Staying with Zhang Rong could cost him his life.

“Come, have a drink,” Zhang Rong shouts.

The guests immediately toast, showering Zhang Rong with compliments.

After a few more drinks, the fear and regret dissipate. He stands with the support of the table and straightens his clothes. “Please wait, I’ll go out and tell the generals.”

He strides confidently down the steps and out the door, without a second thought.

Just as he opens the wooden door, intending to issue orders—

—Suddenly, a small figure drops from the eaves and lands squarely on his shoulders.

Before Zhang Rong can react, a hand clamps tightly around his neck.

The hand is small, but it’s so strong that his face turns red, and his eyes bulge from their sockets.

Sarah leans in and whispers in his ear, “Tell them to open the city gates. If not, I’ll kill you now. Once you’re dead, chaos will follow—and the gates will open on their own.”

His bodyguards on either side shout, “General!”

The guests in the hall are frightened by the sudden change, but none dares step forward.

Sarah’s light golden curls frighten them even more.

Her nails grow longer and prick two holes in Zhang Rong’s neck. Blood slowly trickles down.

Sarah licks her lips, tempted, but holds back. “I’ll let you live, but you must open the gates.”

The general is now her hostage, and the guards don’t dare move.

She releases her grip, and Zhang Rong gasps for air, coughing as he bends over. Sarah doesn’t wait for him to speak. She shouts to the guards, “Go open the gates, or I’ll chop your general into pieces.”

Her voice is low and hoarse, the voice of an adult woman, not a child. The guards are petrified.

Sarah grabs Zhang Rong’s ceremonial headdress, yanking his head back until he nearly loses balance.

“Still not going?!”

The guards tremble and stammer, “Ge-General…”

Sarah’s claws extend again, pressing against Zhang Rong’s throat. “Do you not understand me?” she threatens.

Zhang Rong, who has never faced war or true danger, goes pale with fear.

He doesn’t know who—or what—this girl on his shoulders is. But he knows clearly: his life is in her hands.

The pain in his neck keeps him still. He asks carefully, “Are you… with the lord… outside?”

Sarah’s voice is mocking. “Your lord’s out there freezing in the wind, and you’re in here drinking. How loyal and patriotic.”

Zhang Rong freezes, too scared to respond.

Sarah’s patience finally runs out. “Not talking, huh?”

She yanks the headdress back. Zhang Rong screams as he falls backward. Sarah leaps lightly off his shoulders, and just as he hits the ground, she tears off the headdress—scalp and all.

She flings the bloodied headdress and scalp into the hall.

The guest retainers are scared out of their minds. But with Sarah at the door, none dares flee—they huddle in the corner, too afraid to even look at the scalp.

“Monster, it must be a monster!”

“Definitely a mountain spirit or demon!”

They cling to each other, trembling.

Zhang Rong screams on the floor, blood pouring from his head.

Sarah can’t resist anymore. She reaches out, runs her fingers across the bloody scalp, then brings them to her lips and sucks the blood in front of the two bodyguards.

After getting her fix, Sarah takes a few painkillers from her pocket and shoves them into the still-wailing Zhang Rong’s mouth.

As for the wound on his scalp…

Sarah sighs. “If I didn’t still need you…”

She would’ve had herself a feast.

Human blood still tastes better than the blood of other animals.