Chapter 80: You Probably Can’t Even Scratch Its Hide

“Run, yes, run quickly…” Zhang Shu, flustered and panicked, recalled Xiao Nan’s words and turned to flee after him.

They hadn’t run far, just nearing the low woods, when they saw Xiao Nan up ahead, his face grim, stopping abruptly.

“Stop running. Hold your breath, gather your blood and energy, keep your mind calm.”

“Why?” The thought flashed again through Zhang Shu’s mind.

But he’d been too slow to react before, and now, having learned his lesson, he quickly did as told without daring to ask.

Soon, he understood why.

Han Zhang came charging after them, blood smeared at the corners of his mouth and all over his body, his speed astonishing—far faster than either Zhang Shu or Xiao Nan, who hadn’t broken through to the first rank. Moreover, the man was utterly shameless: seeing the two of them leave the main path, he veered after them, aiming straight for the pair.

He shouted and hollered as he ran, rapidly closing the distance. Gone was any prior composure; only a twisted, ferocious expression remained on his face.

…

Xiao Nan’s pupils narrowed to needle points as Han Zhang closed in. His voice was icy and urgent, “Don’t move until I tell you to run. Stay put for now.”

He knew if Han Zhang wasn’t dealt with, they were dead men. The reason was simple: both the man and the snake coming at them were faster—much faster—than he and Zhang Shu.

Han Zhang’s intention was obvious: to use the two of them as shields, buying himself a moment’s delay while the python was distracted, then escaping immediately. No matter whether they fought or fled, he and Zhang Shu would end up swallowed whole. Even staying still wouldn’t help; Han Zhang would surely do something to them if he got close.

“Ruthless—and effective,” Xiao Nan sneered. “You think you can outrun us? Then let’s make you run a bit slower.”

He stilled his energy and blood, turning his focus inward, becoming as inconspicuous as an ancient tree in a forest or a forgotten stone by the roadside. In his hand, the “Moonlight” sword slowly slid from its sheath.

The python’s eyes were nearly degenerate; it hunted by sensing the vitality and blood flow of its prey, much like an infrared heat sensor—keen, yet almost blind. That was why Xiao Nan had told Zhang Shu to calm his blood and energy and stay still. This was no time to draw the snake’s attention; let Han Zhang bear the full brunt of its enmity.

The more dire the danger, the calmer Xiao Nan became. He swiftly found a way to break the impasse and acted at once. He would not wait passively.

Sword drawn, he watched as man and snake, dragging the gray dragon’s corpse, closed within five paces. In a flash, his body moved like a fish darting through water—silent as he landed, his sword striking like spring rain.

“How bold.”

Han Zhang was both furious and perplexed.

He had not expected the two would stop running. Even more surprising, the young man attacked.

Did he think he could block me with just a few moves? Even if so, he wouldn’t have time to escape—did he want to die together and feed the snake?

Regret welled in Han Zhang’s heart—regret that he hadn’t listened to them earlier. If he hadn’t gone to Herb Lake, his two brothers wouldn’t have died, and he wouldn’t be trapped in this desperate plight. Too late for regrets…

But what’s done is done; no point dwelling on it. As long as he wounded the youth and left him to attract the python, that would suffice. Zhang Shu seemed dull-witted—he could simply throw him to the snake as well. Once the beast had eaten two, it should be sated, or at least too sluggish to chase after him.

“Force Breaks a Thousand Armies…”

Bloodlust glinted in Han Zhang’s eyes. His limbs and neck swelled with power, and he raised his broadsword high, slashing down at Xiao Nan with a forceful charge.

The sword’s shadow crashed down like mountains and waves, the blade tearing the air with a shrill howl. This time, he held nothing back—he unleashed the Deadly General form of his sword style, leaving his opponent no room to dodge or evade, only the option to meet him head-on.

When facing the python, he had no choice but to flee in disgrace. Against another human—one of lower rank—Han Zhang brimmed with confidence. This confidence stemmed not just from his own strength, but from the sword arts he’d inherited.

The Bloodletting Sword Hall’s techniques came from the military, renowned for their ferocity and power. The basic set of ten forms was unremarkable in a beginner’s hands, but the advanced techniques—Deadly General, Greedy Wolf, Seven Slaughters—each grew more fearsome and had earned legendary repute on the battlefield.

Han Zhang’s attack was not meant to kill outright, but to sever a limb, leaving his foe behind to feed the snake and perfect his escape.

Unfortunately, Xiao Nan had the same idea.

Under the avalanche of Han Zhang’s Deadly General style, Xiao Nan’s body twisted, boneless, sword light weaving a delicate net like spring rain in the night.

Deflect, countershock, draw, entangle!

Their swords clashed and tangled—yet barely a sound was heard, only the faintest sizzle, masked by the python’s jet-engine hiss.

“In a single breath, he’s struck eighteen times—each blow carrying over fifteen hundred pounds of force.”

Xiao Nan hadn’t retreated a step, quietly marveling at Han Zhang’s prowess. As an established first-rank martial artist, Han Zhang’s mastery of sword and strength was both bold and refined—a true expert at his level.

Yet since Xiao Nan’s breakthrough, when his mind had reached the state of forgetting the self and his swordplay had become an extension of his will, even he was unsure how far his swordsmanship had progressed. His blade felt like part of his body, able to sense every breath of air, every pulse of power in each stroke.

His opponent’s sword was powerful—he could not match it head-on. But with skillful technique, he could still block the attacks. To stop them was not enough; that would only delay the inevitable, and both would still die. He aimed to escape unscathed, leaving his adversary behind. If he had to take a wound, so be it.

If Han Zhang’s sword was a raging wave, Xiao Nan’s was a swimming fish—elusive and precise, every move interlocking with the next.

They danced like shadows under moonlight, advancing and retreating, exchanging dozens of blows in moments.

The ferocity had vanished from Han Zhang’s face, replaced by terror. He realized his overwhelming strikes were like hacking at water—his opponent’s swordplay was a mesh of silk threads, soft yet containing a hidden strength, growing ever more formidable.

Before he could think of a counter, the world blurred.

The sword light grew brighter, like moonlight thick in the air, a misty drizzle pervading the gloom. A splash of cold landed on him, chilling him to the bone—as the sword web flickered, droplets of water skimmed along the ground and vanished in an instant.

Suddenly, his legs lost all strength—his body staggered and dropped to one knee, his swordplay unraveling.

“No—!”

Han Zhang roared in despair. He understood at last: the opponent’s sword was insidious and venomous, its killing intent hidden within the silken web. In a flash, the blade flicked past his ankles like a viper, severing his Achilles tendons.

No matter how tough his flesh was, without having tempered his tendons, they could not be as hard as steel. And this sword was truly razor-sharp—one silent pass had sliced through skin and muscle, cutting the tendons.

Only when his legs gave out and he collapsed did he realize what had happened.

As he looked up, he saw the young man coughing blood, retreating swiftly, a smile still on his lips.

A fetid wind roared from behind—Han Zhang didn’t need to turn to know the massive python had bared its fangs and was about to swallow him whole.

He could only turn in despair, his sword forming a curtain of light as he slashed at the white python, hope extinguished.

A fourth-rank beast—he could not even scratch its hide.