The first two groups of Xiang Yang Prince’s royal guards had divided their forces: one squad rushed toward the rescued child and the young mother, while the second charged directly at Zhan Zhao.
The third group, led by Yan Zi Qing, moved with precision.
The swift and deadly assassin made straight for the banners still planted by the riverbank. With a flick of his wrist, dozens of throwing knives shot like lightning toward the flagpoles.
His meticulous thinking truly deserved its reputation, befitting a top expert of the Xiang Yang Prince’s Jin Shi Hall. In a single moment, he had deduced the most effective way to stop Zhan Zhao from dismantling the Eye Charm Array—destroy the banners that had become Zhan Zhao’s greatest weapons.
This was the true purpose of the three-pronged assault!
The Xiang Yang Prince’s guards weren’t expected to defeat Zhan Zhao. All they needed was to delay him for just one fleeting moment.
That single moment of delay would ensure the banners could never again be turned into Zhan Zhao’s tools.
Mo Dao’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
—By the time Zhan Zhao realized their intent, it would already be too late.
But that smug expression suddenly froze on his face.
—The seven or eight guards charging toward Zhan Zhao abruptly noticed a flash of brilliance in the dark, star-like depths of the young man’s eyes. And then they heard a sharp, splintering sound.
—No, not a single sound, but rather ten or more sounds occurring simultaneously, though it seemed like only one.
What could possibly produce such a peculiar noise?
Zhan Zhao made a subtle movement with his right hand.
The banner pole he had been holding was suddenly gone!
Yan Zi Qing had just launched his throwing knives when he witnessed something utterly unbelievable.
In the rippling reflection of sunlight off the river, several wooden poles of varying lengths appeared before the banners as if out of thin air. Moving faster than his knives, these poles seemed almost to embrace the blades with a silent, deadly affection, like old lovers reuniting.
With a faint “thud,” the knives embedded themselves in these mysterious wooden poles. It was as if the knives had been enchanted, their momentum vanishing without a trace. The poles and knives fell neatly to the ground, perfectly aligned in a way that even hours of practice couldn’t replicate.
At that same moment, Yan Zi Qing felt a sudden tightness in his chest.
He looked down and saw a wooden pole protruding from his chest, the pain overwhelming him before he even registered the mortal wound.
Yan Zi Qing’s eyes bulged in disbelief.
Only then did he hear the faint whistle of wind that accompanied the wooden pole.
—Zhan Zhao’s strike had been faster than the sound of the wind itself!
Then Yan Zi Qing collapsed.
Even in death, he never saw what had struck him down. Nor did he understand how Zhan Zhao, standing several meters away, had sent dozens of wooden poles forward to intercept his throwing knives—and one into his chest.
What Yan Zi Qing failed to notice was that, just before the sound of the wind, an icy flash of sword light had risen behind him.
That light had been pale as frost.
It was only then that Zhan Zhao’s calm voice broke the silence.
“In my Crane Ascends to the Heavens, Daoist, you will not be disappointed.”
As Zhan Zhao spoke, the banner in his left hand became a fierce weapon, moving like a swift spear to block the royal guards charging at the rescued child and young mother. His right hand no longer held the flagpole; instead, it wielded a long sword, cold and sharp as autumn water.
—The legendary Zhan Lu Sword, once strapped to his back, was now in his hand!
* * *
The rapid sequence of events left everyone dazed, unfolding with the blinding swiftness of lightning and thunder.
Zhong Xiong stood silently to the side, his expression betraying his inability to remain composed. What shocked him most wasn’t Zhan Zhao’s extraordinary martial skill or his agile movements—it was the young man’s uncanny ability to discern his opponent’s true intentions in an instant and respond with the most precise countermeasure.
Zhong Xiong’s eyes now reflected deep contemplation.
Then, Mo Dao’s sinister laugh rang out. For the first time, the usually reticent elder of the Cult of Asura let his voice drip with palpable hatred.
0 Comments