Chapter 443 - 440: Trap

Chapter 443: Chapter 440: Trap

The setting sun was the color of blood, dyeing the clouds on the horizon a deep crimson.

A figure stumbled through the mountain forest, their steps unsteady. Every time their feet touched the ground, it seemed to take all the strength they had left.

This person was none other than Elder Yang Rui of the Qingxuan Sect.

Her face was ashen. A wound on her left shoulder was still seeping blood, and poison had invaded her meridians, making the circulation of her Inner Qi sluggish and difficult.

The saber wound on her side was so deep the bone was visible, and every step sent a heart-piercing pain through her body.

She could no longer remember how long she had been running.

Nine hours?

Ten hours?

Or perhaps even longer.

The cold, violent aura behind her clung to her like a maggot on a rotting bone, tailing her at a leisurely pace.

Her pursuer was toying with her, like a cat with a mouse in its paws.

Just escaping with her life had left her utterly exhausted. She had no energy left to wonder why her opponent was doing this.

"Can’t run anymore?"

A hoarse voice, filled with undisguised mockery, came from behind her.

Tu Hong’s figure emerged slowly from the woods. He casually carried his Thick-Backed Ghost Head Saber on his shoulder, its blade still stained with uncleaned blood.

He was in no hurry.

A heavily injured and poisoned Third Grade Martial Artist could hardly make a splash in front of him.

"You—"

Yang Rui gritted her teeth, trying to speak, but a sweet taste filled her throat as a mouthful of blood welled up.

She forced it back down, but her feet faltered. She grabbed onto an ancient tree for support, gasping for air.

"Giving up on running?"

Tu Hong shook his head and ambled closer.

"Since you’re not running anymore, I’ll give you a quick death."

As he spoke, he casually swung his Ghost Head Saber, and a wave of saber qi shot toward Yang Rui.

"CRACK—"

A tree trunk thick enough to wrap one’s arms around snapped in two and crashed to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

On the brink of life and death, Yang Rui endured the excruciating pain racking her body and dodged pathetically.

She avoided the saber qi, but the movement tore at her wounds. She let out a muffled grunt, her face growing even paler.

Seeing this, a cruel smile touched the corners of Tu Hong’s lips.

He wasn’t in a rush to kill Yang Rui. He just followed at a leisurely pace, occasionally sending out a wave of saber qi to force her into a desperate dodge.

He was quite enjoying this game of cat and mouse.

"You’re going to die anyway. Why struggle on the verge of death instead of just accepting it?"

Tu Hong said mockingly.

Yang Rui gritted her teeth, ignoring Tu Hong’s taunts, and focused all her remaining strength on fleeing.

She knew this man was toying with her.

The moment he grew tired of the game, she would die.

But she had no other choice.

If she ran, there might still be a sliver of hope. If she stopped, it was certain death.

"That’s about enough."

Tu Hong suddenly stopped, a cold glint in his eyes.

"I’m done playing."

He raised his Ghost Head Saber. Black Inner Qi gathered frantically on the blade, condensing until it seemed solid.

He was about to end Yang Rui’s life with a single strike.

Just then—

A green shadow shot out from the forest like a phantom. It was astonishingly fast, moving almost without a sound.

The Cloud Splitting Sword left its sheath.

Its light was like a rainbow.

Tu Hong’s pupils shrank. He instinctively swung his saber to block.

"CLANG—!!!"

The explosive sound of metal on metal rang out, sending sparks flying.

Tu Hong felt an irresistible, immense force travel up his saber. His entire arm went numb, and he was forced back several steps.

He snapped his head up, his gaze falling on the green-robed figure standing between him and Yang Rui.

It was an impossibly young face.

"Fang Han?!"

Tu Hong’s voice was hoarse with astonishment.

Fang Han ignored him, glancing over at Yang Rui.

"Elder Yang, can you still move?"

Yang Rui stared blankly at Fang Han’s sudden appearance, a glint of hope—the light of someone who had just survived a disaster—shining in her eyes.

She nodded, her voice hoarse. "I can."

"Stand back."

Fang Han looked away from her. He pointed his Cloud Splitting Sword toward the ground, a cyan-gold light flowing along its blade.

Yang Rui said nothing, forcing her injured body to retreat.

She knew that in her current state, staying here would only make her a burden.

"Fang Han..."

Tu Hong steadied himself, his eyes fixed on Fang Han.

On his coarse face, the initial shock had faded, replaced by an indescribable... joy?

"So it really was you."

He grinned, and his smile held a hint of relief.

"Good. Very good."

"You actually seem happy about this? Looks like you don’t take me very seriously."

Fang Han spoke, his voice cold.

"It’s true you killed Yuan Zhan, and it’s also true you held your own against Yuan Ye. But I am no weakling like Yuan Zhan."

Tu Hong sneered, holding his Ghost Head Saber horizontally before him.

Before his words had faded, he was the first to attack.

The Thick-Backed Ghost Head Saber transformed into a bolt of blackness, descending upon Fang Han’s head with Mountain-Splitting Stone-Shattering Momentum.

The strike was fast and vicious. Its Saber Momentum was fierce and domineering—a clear cut above Yuan Zhan’s.

Fang Han’s expression didn’t change. Instead of retreating, he advanced.

He held the Cloud Splitting Sword before him as his Wind Sword Intent erupted, meeting the attack with a single thrust.

"CLANG—!!!"

The saber and sword clashed, creating a deafening roar.

A shockwave spread out in all directions, shearing off the top layer of the ground.

Tu Hong’s mind momentarily went blank. An incomparably sharp Powerful Qi pierced through his saber, splitting open the web of his thumb as blood flew.

He grunted, stumbling back several steps, his eyes filled with disbelief.

"You—"

He looked down at his right hand. A deep gash in the web of his thumb was bleeding profusely.

But Fang Han hadn’t moved an inch.

’How is he so strong?’

Tu Hong gritted his teeth and charged forward again.

He whirled his Ghost Head Saber like a wheel, the light from its blade like a tide, each strike faster and more vicious than the last.

But it was useless.

Fang Han’s sword was faster and more vicious.

Every slash carried a sharpness that could tear through anything, along with a spiritual pressure that assaulted the mind.

A few moves.

Just a few moves.

And Tu Hong had already accumulated several new wounds. A sword mark on his left shoulder was deep enough to show bone, and a bloody gash was cut into his right arm, soaking his sleeve in blood.

"Dammit!"

Tu Hong’s face was ashen. He put all his strength into a single strike to force Fang Han back, then retreated explosively.

He gasped for breath, his eyes locked on Fang Han. The initial joy in them was long gone, replaced by profound shock and horror.

He knew Fang Han was strong, but he never imagined he would be this strong. He had originally thought that even if he couldn’t win, his strength would be enough to protect himself, but he never expected to be so heavily injured after just a few exchanges.

"It seems your strength isn’t as great as you claimed."

Fang Han stood with his sword in hand, his gaze as calm as still water.

He activated his Wind God Step, about to press his advantage and finish the man off. However, the very instant he was about to move, two auras suddenly appeared within his perception.

They were cold, violent, and deep as an abyss, carrying a heart-stopping pressure.

They were approaching from both the left and right at the same time.

Their speed was astonishing.

Fang Han’s forward momentum came to an abrupt halt. He held his Cloud Splitting Sword before him, warily scanning his surroundings.

"SWOOSH!" "SWOOSH!"

The sound of something cutting through the air came from two directions at once.

Two figures shot out from the forest like phantoms, landing on either side of Tu Hong.

The one on the left was pale-faced and beardless, with sinister eyes. He held a pair of short spears that glowed with a blue light.

The one on the right was tall and thin with a wizened face, but his eyes were frighteningly bright, and his aura was as deep as an abyss.

Judging from their auras, both of them were extremely powerful, most likely Second Grade Martial Artists.

’Two Second Grades? They really think highly of me!’

Fang Han stared at the two Second-Grade Elders from the Netherworld Pavilion who had just appeared.

Even with his current strength, facing an ambush from two Second Grade Martial Artists would be extremely dangerous.

Clearly, the attack on the transport team and the pursuit of Yang Rui—it was all a setup. A trap designed to lure him here for a rescue, a trap meant specifically for him.

"Fang Han."

Of the two Second Grade Martial Artists, the pale, beardless one, named Song Shu, spoke. His voice was hoarse and filled with irrepressible pride.

"We went to a great deal of trouble to lure you out."

"There is one thing I don’t understand."

Fang Han stood with his sword, his gaze as tranquil as water, showing no sign of panic.

He had a question on his mind. With the Perception Ability of his Thousand-Mile Soul Lock, he could sense every aura within a radius of several miles. If someone were lurking nearby, it would have been impossible for him not to notice. Yet these two had clearly just appeared in his perception out of nowhere. Before this, he had been completely unaware of them.

He spoke slowly, his gaze landing on Song Shu’s face.

"With my Perception Ability, if you were lurking nearby, it’s impossible that I wouldn’t have noticed."

He paused, then continued.

"What method did you use to hide from my perception?"

Hearing this, a cold arc formed on Song Shu’s lips.

It was a curve full of pride.

"Fang Han, did you think our Netherworld Pavilion was unaware that you excel at a Tracking Secret Technique? Fine. I’ll satisfy your curiosity before you die."

He sneered and took a thumb-sized bead from his robes.

The bead was a plain, unremarkable gray, yet it faintly emanated a peculiar aura.

The aura was so faint that it was almost imperceptible unless one focused on sensing it.

"This is called a ’Spirit-Hiding Bead’."

Song Shu toyed with the bead in his hand, a hint of boastfulness in his voice.

"Just by wearing it, you can block spiritual power and the perception of any Perception Secret Technique."

He paused, his gaze falling on Fang Han’s face, his smug expression deepening.

"Knowing you excel at a Perception Secret Technique, I specially borrowed this item from the treasury to prevent you from detecting us in advance."

Fang Han’s eyes fell on the gray bead, and understanding dawned on him.

’The world is vast and full of wonders.’

He knew that all sorts of Heavenly Materials and Earthly Treasures with bizarre effects existed in the world, but he had never imagined a treasure capable of blocking perception.

’Today has really been an eye-opener.’

"I see."

He nodded slowly, his expression still calm, showing no hint of panic.

"So such a Heavenly Material and Earthly Treasure exists. But it’s not too late to find out now."

"Do you think you can escape with your life today?"

Song Shu put away the Spirit-Hiding Bead and held his short spears before him, his eyes filled with killing intent.

Before his words faded, the aura around him exploded outward.

The terrifying pressure of his Second Grade Cultivation bore down on Fang Han like a physical mountain.

At the same time, the tall, thin elder also made his move.

He raised his right hand, and a longsword as black as ink left its sheath. A ghostly light flowed along the blade, carrying a frigid, corrosive aura.

The two auras locked onto Fang Han from the left and right.

Tu Hong also forced his injured body to stand ready, holding his Ghost Head Saber before him. Though wounded, he watched Fang Han like a tiger stalking its prey.

The three of them formed a triangle, trapping Fang Han in the center.