She was being carried like a sack by the War Ghost, motionless, and it was unclear if she was alive or dead.
Yuan Zhong pondered for a moment, then slowly smiled. “She’s just a mere mortal, and yet the War Ghost clan still feels the need to strike her down?”
No one responded. The War Ghosts, known for their relentless combat, fought to the death without wasting words. All six of them simultaneously swung their long whips, aiming for the spot where Yuan Zhong stood. The long whip was the most common weapon of the War Ghost clan, known for its flexibility and immense strength. When six whips slammed into the ground, it felt like the mountain itself might be torn apart. The earth trembled, and dust and grass flew into the air, obscuring all vision.
Yuan Zhong had already slipped to the side. Seeing Tan Yin thrown to the ground, her back still bleeding profusely from a wound, he hesitated for a moment, just about to pick her up when a fierce wind blew from behind. In an instant, his body transformed into a flash of golden light, darting away just in time. A whip, as thick as a leg, slammed into the ground beside Tan Yin, sending her flying into the air. She landed heavily, rolling over and over, leaving a trail of blood behind her. It was unclear if she was still alive.
Such a pity—a beautiful woman, Yuan Zhong thought to himself with a sigh. He had suspected she might have a hidden agenda, perhaps harboring ill intentions toward the Youhu clan, but to see her die like this was a shame.
The six long whips moved as if they had minds of their own, displaying an uncanny sensitivity that was truly terrifying. No matter where Yuan Zhong tried to hide, they would instantly locate him. He had no doubt that if one of those whips struck him, it would be the end. Last time, when he confronted Li Chaoyang, her halberd had casually swung, and it had cost him his right hand. Thankfully, his ability to escape had saved him.
Another deafening crash resounded as a small section of the forest was leveled. Yuan Zhong sighed again. War Ghosts were, after all, a warrior clan, as their name suggested. As for his own clan, the Youhu? It sounded weak and delicate. And to make matters worse, he was the least skilled fighter among them. All this killing—it was anything but elegant.
He had considered slipping away quietly, but with six of them, his chances were slim. Tugging at the black silk glove on his left hand, he resigned himself to the fact that today he would have to shed blood.
The War Ghosts were wreaking havoc, practically flattening the mountain, but the fox kept slipping away, faster than they could catch. The leader of the War Ghosts was growing frustrated. They preferred swift, face-to-face combat, and dealing with someone who only ran away was incredibly aggravating.
The dust cloud obscured their vision, and the fox had once again disappeared. Even their sharp senses couldn’t detect him. War Ghost A lashed out with his whip, clearing the dust, revealing a forest with many broken trees—but no sign of their target.
Out of the corner of his eye, War Ghost A caught a glimpse of red light. He turned in shock and lashed his whip, but the figure caught it effortlessly. It was the Youhu monk, his robe covered in dust, his face equally smudged, looking disheveled. Yet, despite holding the whip in one hand, he smiled leisurely.
“Careful, you might trip,” Yuan Zhong said with a grin.
The War Ghost’s double-pupil eyes narrowed as he prepared to charge forward, but his feet suddenly felt stuck, and he stumbled to the ground. To his horror, he saw that his feet were encased in ice, which was rapidly creeping up his legs.
“Damn fox!” he cursed, trying to yank his whip free, but it, too, was frozen solid, cracking into pieces. He let out an enraged howl, but before he could finish, his entire body was encased in ice, frozen solid.
The remaining five War Ghosts immediately attacked, their whips slicing through the air with a sharp, piercing sound. Yuan Zhong pressed his left hand lightly to the ground, and in an instant, his body dissolved into a flash of golden light, reappearing far away.
The War Ghosts had grown impatient with his constant dodging and decided to abandon their whips, charging instead toward the source of the thick scent in the air. The Youhu clan’s members gave off a fragrant scent when wounded, and the dead fox would be no exception.
But their feet soon became stuck, and no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t move. It wasn’t long before they realized the ground was covered in a thick layer of ice, freezing them in place, with the ice creeping up their legs, numbing their limbs.
The dust finally settled, revealing Yuan Zhong standing calmly, his robe fluttering in the wind. Before him, the entire area—stretching from where he stood to the edge of the forest—was covered in thick ice, with even Tan Yin frozen inside.
His face was scratched, and his mask was torn, hanging loosely from his chin. Blood stained one side of his face, but his exposed eye gleamed brightly, sharp and catlike, with no trace of the previous chaos.
At that moment, the five remaining War Ghosts were fully encased in ice. Only one had half of his head still visible, his blood-red eyes glaring at Yuan Zhong. “What kind of sorcery is this…?”
Yuan Zhong responded calmly, “No one knows, not even me. And of those who’ve seen it, only Li Chaoyang and I are still alive. Rest easy—I’ll say prayers for all six of you.”
With that, he clasped his hands together and bowed silently.
The War Ghost’s remaining eye darted to Yuan Zhong’s left hand, where the black silk glove was now gone. His hand and forearm were covered in dark red markings. Just as the War Ghost was about to scream, the ice enveloped his head, freezing him for eternity.
Yuan Zhong closed his eyes, reciting a prayer.
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