Letting his muscle memory take over, Xinzi hurled Xia Hu into the sky, slid past two knife slashes, and sent two of the assassins flying into their peers. Up above, the body bag trapping Xia Hu broke down, enabling the fem swordsman to whirl into balance and land beside Xinzi. Like disarticulated reptiles, the assassins slipped back into their lineup. The 16 tenebrous figures became 48, multiplying even as their forms blurred across the platform, threatening to rain gashes on the monk-swordsman duo.
“The Phantom God Shift.” Xinzi recognized the eerie movement skill, trademark of the Anyue state’s ruling faction: the Dark Moon cult.
The largest state of Yanzhou, Anyue was a theocratic matriarchy that specialized in all manners of heretical cultivation. The citizens worshipped the Dark Moon priestesses like spokeswomen of the Dark Moon Goddess, a manic and sex-crazed deity that required blood sacrifices and bestial orgies—in no particular order—if the cultists were to be trusted, of course. The Dark Moon cult was by no means the only household name of Anyue. In fact, a loose coalition of renegade powers formed to resist its despotic authority. Nevertheless, the Dark Moon cult didn’t waver, and was to Anyue what the White Immortal sect was to Dongli.
“What a stroke of bad luck. Right when you dismantle the formation, the Sacrificial Knives of the Dark Moon cult spring from the shadows to behead us all. Xinzi, you ought to be the evil star sent by Heaven to drown us in misfortune,” Xia Hu said, and tapped his storage ring, pulling out restorative pills that he chugged down without delay.
The bruises, broken bones and battered organs healed at a rapid pace. The fem swordsman’s external injuries vanished, leaving only the blood stains to marr his enticing looks. From voice to physique, eyelashes, lips and hair, there was virtually no difference between Xia Hu and Dongli’s top bombshells—making the assassins, who’d come for a heroic man’s head—flounder in confusion.
The confusion didn’t last. Since the clothes and aura all matched their target, the Sacrificial Knives would kill first, then debate ifs and whys later. Veiled by the Phantom God Shift, their cultivation level didn’t leak, but by computing their movement speed, slashing force, and readjusting for the boost gained by the Phantom God Shift, Xinzi could guess that…”Sixteen Pulse Condensation stage experts. Twelve at the mid-stage, four at the late-stage. Ouch. Where is the old bastard monk when you need him?”
Should Xinzi unleash his demonic powers, he had nothing to fear from most cultivators under the Golden Core realm. But even in a backwater place such as Dongli, the monk dared not expose demonic skills to a public he couldn’t control. Without those skills, however, Xinzi would struggle to resist a late-stage Pulse Condensation expert’s assault.
“At best I can compete with one mid-stage Pulse Condensation expert. Defeating several of them is just beyond my abilities.” Anticipating Xinzi’s thoughts, Xia Hu stated the facts and summoned his longsword.
“We will solve this with brain, not brawn. Follow my lead,” Xinzi said and tapped Xia Hu’s shoulder. Our monk’s lips flashed an impish smile, the fem swordsman felt the blood coursing through his veins burn like wildfire, and as his skin flushed and his eyes went bloodshot, the intensity of his aura leaped past its normal peak. “Xinzi you…deceitful son of a bitch.” The cuss had barely left his lips that Xia Hu launched himself into a maniacal dance, taking swings at the Sacrificial Knives with the ferocity of an unhinged berserker. The Winds of Degradation gathered around his legs, shrouding his lower extremities in an eye-catching green cyclone.
“Ah…flattery, sis-bro, will get you everywhere.” Xinzi relished Xia Hu’s rage and watched with a concerning interest as the fem swordsman’s bouncy rump swayed with each slash.
At the same time, our monk connected to his Blood Spirit nun, Tusha, who previously hid a part of her soul in Chun Xu, so she could possess the Sword Fairy whenever needed. “Tusha, don’t make any eye-catching move, but watch out for the girls.”
“As you wish.” That settled, Xinzi shifted his focus back on the battle. His Spiritual Sense spread out, connecting to the 200 White Immortal sect disciples, who still stood in an ordered array—a couple steps behind Xinzi. Unlike Xia Hu, these disciples currently had no access to their mind or personalities, and were not much different from the Yang Doll Xia Hu had attempted to condense his sword with.
“Whenever some try to break free to target me, harass them with swift charges. Eventually, they will try to execute you first. Use your boosted speed to survive their assault, hold on for a minute, and I will take care of the rest,” Xinzi said in a mental message and shut his eyes.
Driven by his Spiritual Sense, the 200 sect disciples sat crossed-legged, and joined their hands in a succession of mudras. Their Spiritual Qi flowed out, coalescing into a shroud of resplendent blue that caught the Sacrificial Knives’ attention immediately.
“Easier said than done,” Xia Hu mumbled under his nose, yet didn’t lose sight of those he faced. Aware of the Sacrificial Knives’ methods, Xia Hu knew that while his eyes saw 48 shadowy figures, only 16 were made of flesh and blood. The 16 worked in perfect synch, shifting positions and gliding through the air with an unsettling grace that Xia Hu failed to see through—he wouldn’t have to.
Moving faster than the Sacrificial Knives could expect, Xia Hu condensed rows of green flying swords, sending them hurtling at the gliding shadows in a bombardment of sword thrusts. Prepared for the move’s range, the Sacrificial Knives split into 48 directions—rushing up, down, left and right to avoid head-on confrontation and prevent Xia Hu from distinguishing real from fake.
A handful used that opportunity to aim for Xinzi, but had yet to bridge the distance that a cold snort pealed within their ears. “Humph!” The fem swordsman cleft downward. His flying swords chased after all running targets—giving the Sacrificial Knives no chance to split focus between Xinzi and him.
Whirling across the air, the Sacrificial Knives locked on Xia Hu, closing in on him at a speed that—even with Xinzi’s Blood Energy boost—Xia Hu could barely cope with. 48 knives surrounded him instantly. The fem swordsman’s lustrous hair fluttered alongside the blades’ whistling sounds, Xia Hu closed his eyes, combining his Spiritual Sense and hearing to distinguish the 16 knives from the fake ones.
The knives now only stood an inch away from Xia Hu’s neck, waist and skull. But in that last moment, the fem swordsman vanished, appeared beside the slowest of the 16 knives, and cleft at the owner’s shoulder. A mid-stage Pulse Condensation level expert, the assassin forcefully halted his move, but neither advanced nor retreated—giving Xia Hu’s blow a clear path to his shoulder.
Seeing through the ruse, Xia Hu realized that as long as he lopped that arm off, he couldn’t move fast enough to escape the 15 blade that’d subsequently skewer him to death. The fem swordsman’s instincts took over, and instead he placed one foot on the assassin’s thigh—using him as a trampoline to propel himself into the sky. The Winds of Degradation kicked into gear, pushing Xia Hu farther away from the 16 experts. Still they didn’t stop—perpetually shifting with their shadow selves to make Xia Hu’s detection as challenging as possible—and raced after him.
A narrow dance of slashing blades followed, and even with Xinzi’s support, Xia Hu was forced to admit that should the battle remain on this trend, he’d forfeit his life shortly.
“Xinzi! What are you waiting for? Hurry and save me!”
“Eh? Is this how a slave should address himself to his master? Aiya, I guess I will have to let their knives educate you. Who knows, considering your unusual cultivation methods, you might even like it.”
“Bastard monk! This is not a joke, save me quick!”
“…” Silence met Xia Hu’s fears, and as the knives got ever closer to his neck, the fem swordsman broke into tears.
“Alright, alright, alright! Master, please save me!” Xia Hu’s plea thundered. Needless to say, Xinzi didn’t enslave that sis-bro of his to watch him lose his neck to random knife-wielding zealots.
As his hands played with a bagua compass, the monk’s eyes opened wide. Shining runes poured out, latching on the 200 disciples, whose hands stopped in the dhyani mudra. Orbs of Spiritual Qi formed around the disciples, splitting them into eight groups that flew into the sky, orbiting Xinzi like a ring of celestial bodies.
Fire, water, wind, thunder, lakes, mountains, heaven and earth—within the eight gargantuan orbs—mystical phenomenons depicting the eight trigrams took shape, as Xinzi turned over 200 disciples into his personal…Eight Trigrams Array.
Though embroiled in their own battles, the formation masters among the inner and elite disciples paused, taking a moment to peep at this outrageous feat that—despite decades of careful studies, none could replicate.
“You can die,” Xinzi said in a calm and leisurely tone—prompting a dreadful energy blast that reduced the assassins into dust. Again, the might of a prodigious formation master went on full display, making Xia Hu’s loins stir uncontrollably.