Chapter Forty-Seven: All Killing Intent Revealed

“He’s gone mad!” Upon hearing Ruoxi’s anxious tone, Haotian instinctively replied to her in his mind. At that very moment, distracted by his own words, he was just a shade slower in blocking Xiaoshan’s sword.

Xiaoshan curled his lips into a smile as he looked at Haotian; he seemed amused by the scene. Strangely enough, the one most disturbed was not the man at the center of the storm, but rather the bystanders—something that deserved contemplation.

The blue light grew even brighter and, seizing Haotian’s brief hesitation, thrust toward him. Haotian’s pupils contracted. His sword, which had been blocking in another direction, instantly shifted in an attempt to defend the newly exposed gap.

Unquestionably, Haotian’s training was lacking. Even such a simple distraction was enough to make him falter, and before a true master, a moment’s pause could be fatal.

The dazzling light shot straight for his heart.

“Ugh!”

Despite giving it his all, Haotian couldn’t help but let out a sound—his sword tip collided directly with Xiaoshan’s blade.

Astonishment filled Haotian’s heart; he had actually managed to block it. But in the very next instant, despair overwhelmed him.

He realized he could not truly withstand Xiaoshan’s attack. The force sent him stumbling backward, his feet scraping against the ground, his sword point gouging a furrow as it was driven into the earth.

A chill ran through Haotian, cold sweat trickling down his brow. His instincts were correct—he could only evade; he was no match for this opponent.

A martial artist at the stage of Transforming Strength, unable to defeat someone who hadn’t even cultivated Inner Strength—what an absurdity.

Haotian looked up. While he had paused, Xiaoshan had already closed the distance.

Using his sword for support, Haotian forced himself upright. His grip was now so tight that his knuckles were white.

His mind was blank—facing Xiaoshan, he could no longer see how he might defend against the next attack.

Xiaoshan drew ever nearer, his blue sword blade gleaming with deadly intent. Haotian took a deep breath, forcing down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Closer!” Haotian’s pupils shrank; he was ready, yet to his surprise, Xiaoshan gave him a sidelong glance and abruptly veered away!

Startled, Haotian followed him with his gaze. Xiaoshan’s true target was Haopo, the injured man.

During his skirmish with Xiaoshan, Haotian had, without realizing it, ended up diagonally across from Haopo—thanks to Xiaoshan’s maneuvers.

It became clear: Xiaoshan’s goal had always been Haopo. The fight with Haotian was just a ruse to draw him away, to create an opening. All the delays, all the blunders—they had all been engineered by Xiaoshan, not the result of coincidence or Haotian’s own choices.

“No! I can’t let my failure doom this mission!” Haotian stared at Xiaoshan’s silhouette, a decisive resolve hardening in his heart.

Entrusting him with this protection was a sign of trust.

Though countless thoughts raced through his mind, in reality, only an instant passed before he acted.

He pushed off with his ankle, leaving an afterimage as he launched himself toward Xiaoshan at a speed few could believe, hoping to intercept him.

To bystanders, Haotian’s sudden burst of speed even seemed to surpass Xiaoshan’s; only his delayed reaction gave Xiaoshan the advantage.

The diagonal distance was neither far nor near—he reached Xiaoshan in the blink of an eye.

But Xiaoshan, sensing Haotian’s rapid approach, only smiled. His sword was already thrust out, poised directly at the seated Haopo.

Haotian watched in panic as the gap between Xiaoshan and Haopo narrowed. He gripped his sword tighter, and suddenly, a burst of inspiration flashed in his mind.

He poured his inner energy through his arm and into his sword, aimed with his right hand, and struck with his left.

The sword flew from his hand, its gleaming arc slicing through the air straight toward Xiaoshan.

A cold smile appeared on Haotian’s face as his body came to a sudden halt. The pitch-black blade stopped inches from Haopo’s brow.

At the same time, a voice roughened by time echoed from Xiaoshan’s lips.

“So you trust them this much?” Xiaoshan shook his head, as though in the next instant his sword could plunge into Haopo’s forehead.

Behind Haopo, Haoyun was the first to react. His eyes snapped open, and what he saw first was that flash of light.

The pitch-black sword was now emitting a ghostly white glow—chilling and sinister.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, fearing that the slightest sound might provoke Xiaoshan to strike.

Had anyone been able to see Haopo’s meridians now, they would have realized he was at the critical moment: the internal chaos was slowly being brought to order by a guiding current of inner energy.

Even so, with the blade so close, he could not help but sweat, a bead trickling down his cheek.

Gradually, inner strength began to flow from Haopo’s body. His disrupted meridians were healing, instinctively shielding themselves from danger.

Haoyun looked up. In this tense moment, Xiaoshan’s lack of reaction was odd.

Xiaoshan’s pupils began to change, the black slowly turning to white.

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept in—before the sword reached its mark, the wind arrived first.

Xiaoshan turned, sensing the threat. His eyes reverted to black.

With a surge of strength in his wrist, the blade moved again, stabbing toward Haopo.

“Wait!”