Mo Dafu lightly landed where Han Li had been standing just moments ago. Without any hesitation, he smoothly turned around like a ghost, his face losing the earlier arrogance. What replaced it was a dull expression, though a faint, almost imperceptible glint of something different flickered in his eyes.
Han Li, meanwhile, was in a difficult spot. His breath was ragged, and his face had turned pale. Beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead, and his cheeks had an unhealthy flush. All of these signs pointed to the fact that the energy expended by using the Luo Yan Step earlier had drained most of his strength. It was highly likely that, with his current state, he wouldn't be able to use that technique again in the near future.
Exhaling deeply, Han Li tried to relax his body, easing the intense pressure on his muscles from the previous technique. All he could do now was focus on regaining some strength, hoping for even the slightest chance of victory in the next round.
Looking down at his left hand, which was still slightly trembling, Han Li grimaced. The hand had gone completely numb, and he had lost all feeling in it, rendering it useless for holding the sword. The left-handed swordplay he had painstakingly trained in had been temporarily incapacitated. That left him with only his right hand to rely on. This was a dire situation—his stamina was almost gone, his body was exhausted, and his main weapon was rendered ineffective. The only option now was to use his last secret move.
Han Li glanced outside at the sun, estimating that the timing was just right. He believed it was time to use this trump card. His eyes then fell upon the short sword still lodged in the wall. It seemed there was no chance of retrieving it; Mo Dafu wouldn't let him walk around freely to recover it.
After a brief contemplation, Han Li pulled another weapon from his chest. It was another short sword, roughly half a foot in length. Given its size, it was more of a dagger than a true short sword. But it was gleaming with a sharp, deadly aura. Han Li unsheathed it and tossed the scabbard aside, then gripped it in his right hand, taking a stance as he aimed the blade in Mo Dafu's direction.
Mo Dafu watched silently, but didn't make a move to attack immediately. Instead, he casually clasped his hands behind his back, his demeanor shifting dramatically. His voice softened, taking on a more serene tone as he spoke:
"Han Li, you've evaded me multiple times now. It's truly unexpected. But do you really believe that you can escape from my grasp again? The step you used earlier was impressive, but it seems to have a significant limitation. Your stamina is clearly depleted, and I doubt you can repeat it again. Just surrender now. You must see that I haven't hurt you seriously. If you cooperate, things may not be as bad as you think."
The sudden shift in Mo Dafu's attitude sent a shiver down Han Li's spine. One moment he was cold and cruel, the next, he was trying to convince Han Li to give up. This dramatic change in tone felt like a manipulation—a trap to make Han Li drop his guard.
Han Li had no intention of falling for such a feigned kindness. Instead, he let out a faint laugh and thought to himself, If he truly feared me, he wouldn't resort to such childish tactics to deceive me.
Internally, Han Li found himself gaining more confidence. If Mo Dafu were truly worried, he wouldn't resort to such amateurish tricks. Instead of responding verbally, Han Li simply gave a mocking glance and waved the short sword in front of him, signaling his defiance.
Mo Dafu's patience was wearing thin. Seeing Han Li ignore his words and instead use his sword to taunt him, his temper finally flared. The veins on his forehead bulged as he snarled, "You're asking for it!"
Without another word, Mo Dafu lunged forward, taking a large step toward Han Li and bellowing, "One step away from death!" His body seemed to blur with speed, akin to a martial arts master employing a teleportation-like technique, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye.
Caught off guard, Han Li instinctively stepped back, his face showing a brief flash of panic. He hurriedly created some distance between them, raising his sword to form a barrier of flashing cold light, determined to stop Mo Dafu's advance. It was as though he had completely forgotten the pain he had endured in their previous encounter.
Mo Dafu, however, only chuckled inwardly. He wasn't about to let Han Li off so easily. His silver hands parted and attacked from two different angles, dismissing the sword's cold gleam as nothing to be worried about.
Just as the silver hands were about to break through the sword light, a soft laugh echoed from Han Li's direction. It was a low, mocking sound, like a predator delighting in seeing its prey fall into a trap.
Mo Dafu's heart skipped a beat. Something wasn't right.
The voice continued, icy and cold, "Now, you've truly fallen into my trap. Look at my sword."
Mo Dafu involuntarily glanced at Han Li's weapon. To his surprise, Han Li had stopped his swordplay and was now striking a strange, almost peculiar posture. His upper body leaned slightly back, one hand holding the sword flat against his waist, while his lower body was bent into a taut, ready stance, as though preparing to release an arrow from a bow.
At first glance, Han Li's sword seemed no different from before. It was still glowing with faint blue light, and nothing about it seemed particularly unusual. Mo Dafu's suspicion grew. Was Han Li attempting to deceive him with a feint, using his body language to distract him while attempting to use a weak trick?
Just as Mo Dafu was about to mock Han Li, he suddenly saw the young man spring forward like a released arrow, moving with explosive speed. The force of Han Li's charge made Mo Dafu's expression change. Even a master like him was forced to pause for a moment.
Mo Dafu quickly brought his two silver hands together, intending to block Han Li's blade. But as soon as he did, something incredible happened. Han Li's sword flickered, and in a flash, it multiplied into a dozen identical blades, all of them shooting toward Mo Dafu from different angles, impossible to distinguish from one another.
Mo Dafu narrowed his eyes, recognizing the danger. Fakes... he thought. There's only one real sword.
He snorted derisively, dismissing Han Li's technique as nothing more than a flashy but ineffective trick. His trained eyes quickly locked onto the real blade, and with a confident and dismissive sneer, he moved even faster to intercept it.
But Han Li's real attack was already upon him.