Chapter Thirty-Eight: Poisoned Wounds

Clang! Clang!

He An’s face was cold and stern as the Black Spirit Sword slashed at Ye Mo in a storm of blows, each strike swifter than the last. The treasured sword left afterimages in the air, its sword energy slicing through space with a piercing hiss, creating pockets of vacuum in its wake.

Ye Mo gritted his teeth, desperately parrying each attack. Sweat as large as beans dripped from his brow. Fortunately, his years of splitting waves had given him an uncommonly steady stance; though he was clearly at a disadvantage, he showed not the slightest sign of panic.

On the contrary, his mind grew ever clearer.

“Molin, archery support!”

Ye Mo shouted with all his might.

Molin was stationed at the nearest arrow tower to him. She, Wang Hu, and Yang You were frantically firing arrows to keep the enemy martial artists from breaching the camp. As the attackers hurled themselves forward, her burden only increased.

Hearing Ye Mo’s shout, she realized his peril and hurriedly turned her powerful bow in his direction.

Whoosh!

An arrow shot explosively toward He An.

“Hmph! With such petty tricks, how long do you think you can delay me?” He An snorted irritably, forced to abandon pressing Ye Mo and dodge the arrow instead.

“That’s enough!” Ye Mo finally seized a precious moment to breathe, breaking free from his purely defensive stance. He raised the Azure Edge Sword and unleashed a full-force Double Wave Slash at He An.

He An sneered with disdain.

Ye Mo had already used this move; though it had reached an extraordinary level of mastery, it was still only a double strike—clearly not enough to match him.

“Soul-Severing Triple Slash!” He An roared, and the Black Spirit Sword flashed three times in an instant, lashing out at Ye Mo with a fury that carried nearly a thousand pounds of force. The flurry left a string of afterimages in the air, the speed of the strikes pushing the very limits of a martial artist.

A wild light burned in Ye Mo’s eyes; he showed no intent to evade—he was staking his life.

“Break!” He An saw Ye Mo refusing to dodge, foolishly trying to meet him head-on. He sneered inwardly. His sword was definitely faster.

Clang! Clang!

The first two slashes of the Soul-Severing Triple Slash directly canceled out the power of the Double Wave Slash.

The third black arc cleaved toward Ye Mo’s torso.

Ye Mo gritted his teeth and lunged forward, closing the distance between himself and He An.

Claaang!

The Black Spirit Sword struck Ye Mo’s chest.

A resounding crash echoed as Ye Mo’s coarse tunic was instantly shredded by the fierce sword energy, the fragments swirling through the air and revealing a suit of golden armor that blazed with dazzling light beneath the setting sun.

The razor-sharp black sword energy left only a faint mark on the golden armor, failing to even penetrate.

“Armor?... What kind of armor is this? Could it be a spirit-forged breastplate?” He An was aghast.

Nothing had gone as he expected. His full-force strike had not split Ye Mo’s chest but was instead blocked by this unyielding armor—entirely beyond his imagination.

Yet even armor should not so easily withstand the onslaught of his treasured sword.

His Black Spirit Sword was a supreme weapon.

A spirit-forged breastplate!

Only such armor could casually deflect the blows of a treasured sword, leaving barely a trace. Martial artists possessing such armor held a massive advantage; their foes had no hope of breaking through in a short time, while those moments were more than enough to be killed many times over.

But how could an ordinary warrior like Ye Mo possess a spirit-forged breastplate?

Ye Mo let out a muffled groan as his blood surged and nearly coughed up a mouthful of stagnant blood, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable. Fortunately, his foundation was rock solid; he did not retreat under the blow, but braced himself and endured.

“Vortex Slash!”

Now less than half a pace separated Ye Mo and He An. With a twist of his body, Ye Mo spun the Azure Edge Sword in a furious vortex.

He An snapped out of his shock and tried to retreat explosively, but it was too late—Ye Mo was too close. The wide sweep of the Vortex Slash made escape impossible.

Squelch!

A sword wound split open He An’s right upper arm, blood dripping down his sleeve in a startling crimson flow.

He was wounded!

He An stared in disbelief at the cut on his arm. Blood trickled down, vividly shocking. Since becoming the number one master in the State of Zheng, he had never been hurt again.

Ye Mo’s blade had struck only his arm, not a vital spot, but it was enough to shake him. Had he been even a hair slower, the bleeding spot would have been his chest—a grave injury, bones broken, tendons severed.

“Success!” Ye Mo rejoiced, suppressing the blood rising in his throat as he leapt backward to guard against a desperate counterattack.

One sword was enough!

Even a light wound would suffice.

For the Azure Edge Sword had long been coated with “Ghostbane,” a potent toxin. Even juvenile demon crabs could not resist it and would soon collapse in paralysis. No matter how strong He An was, he could not be stronger than those creatures.

“How dare you!” He An was furious at being wounded and raised his sword to strike Ye Mo, when suddenly a strange numbness swept through his right arm, followed by a wave of exhaustion that flooded his right side, making his body heavy and drowsy.

“Not good! Poison! There’s a deadly poison on the sword!” He An staggered involuntarily, glaring furiously at the Azure Edge Sword in Ye Mo’s hand, then turned and sprang for the spirit-wood palisade, using his Light Step to vault over.

The moment he sensed something amiss, he realized he’d been poisoned.

Rage burned within him, but he dared not pursue Ye Mo any longer.

The poison was too vicious, acting with terrifying speed. Even now, as the first wave of symptoms struck, he felt the numbness intensifying. If he delayed any longer, the venom would fully take hold and paralyze him—by then, escape would be impossible.

As the top master of Zheng, he would not make such a foolish mistake.

With a bound, he leapt over the spirit-wood palisade two zhang high, slashing aside two arrows that flew at him, channeling all his internal energy to suppress the poison at his wound, and raced at full speed toward Zheng Yiqing and his group.

...

Not everyone had He An’s peerless lightness skills and martial prowess.

Zheng Yiqing’s band launched a second assault, but only He An ever managed to break into the cave camp.

The captives, unwilling and resentful, were forced forward at swordpoint by Zheng Yiqing, Steward Cao, and Advisor Hou.

The three low wooden arrow towers rained down a crossfire, sealing off every dead angle and pinning the other martial artists outside the camp.

To their utter exasperation, just as they made it to within ten zhang of the cave camp, they discovered a host of hidden traps.

Over the past days, Wang Hu and Yang You had dug a multitude of rough pitfalls to deal with the sea beast tide, leaving only a single safe path about one zhang wide—the rest bristled with traps and sharp stakes, the ground littered with spiked brambles.

If not for the three arrow towers, the martial artists could easily have skirted the traps and approached the camp along the safe route.

But with the towers in place and the powerful bows launching arrows with two to three hundred jin of force, even the so-called safe path was a deathtrap.

Arrows and spirit-wood javelins rained down from left, center, and right; even late-stage martial experts couldn’t withstand the barrage.

Without He An’s unrivaled agility and martial skill, who could possibly break through?

Any who charged would die!

The captives and Zheng Yiqing’s men reached a stalemate ten zhang from the camp, caught in a deadly crossfire, becoming live targets for the arrow towers.

The safe passage was too narrow—there was no breaking through.

Destroy the traps? Under the ever-watchful eyes of the arrow towers, no one had time to fill them in.

In a short span, six or seven of the weaker martial artists had already been wounded by the barrage of spirit-wood arrows and javelins.

“Useless rabble! At any cost, break through for this Lord!” Zheng Yiqing cursed furiously.

He watched He An charge into the camp, only to flee wounded moments later, while his own forces were hard-stopped ten zhang from the palisade by the arrow towers and the multitude of traps. After paying a bitter price in this second assault and failing once again, his rage boiled over.