Chapter 48: Deceptive Words

Mo Daifu landed gently where Han Li had stood, without pausing, he spun around like a ghost, facing him again; the arrogance on his face had vanished entirely, replaced by a blank expression, yet a faint, almost imperceptible glint of something unusual shone in his eyes.

At this moment, Han Li’s condition was also dire—he panted heavily, his face pale, beads of cold sweat glistened on his forehead, and an unnatural flush colored his cheeks.

All of this made it clear that Han Li’s earlier survival technique had drained most of his physical strength; he likely wouldn’t be able to repeat the same maneuver next time.

Han Li exhaled deeply, relaxing his body as much as possible to ease the heavy strain the “Luo Yan Step” had placed on his muscles; now, he could only seize every opportunity to regain even a little more strength, to increase his chances of victory in the next round of combat.

Han Li glanced again at his left hand, still trembling slightly—it was completely numb, with no sensation at all, utterly useless for gripping a sword; his carefully trained left-hand sword technique was temporarily useless, leaving him to fight only with his remaining right hand.

Thinking of this, he let out a bitter internal laugh—his strength was half gone, he could no longer use the intricate “Luo Yan Step,” and worse still, he was forced to fight with one hand only; this was the worst possible situation—he could only resort to his last hidden secret technique.

Han Li glanced at the sun outside the room, estimated the time, and decided it was just right to unleash this technique.

He glanced again at the short sword stuck in the wall—it seemed he’d never get it back; the opponent wouldn’t let him stroll over to retrieve it so openly.

Han Li paused, then pulled another weapon from his robe—a similar half-foot-long sheathed short sword; its length was so short it was more like a dagger than a sword. When he drew it, the blade appeared much broader and thicker than an ordinary dagger, gleaming brightly and clearly razor-sharp.

Han Li tossed the sheath aside, switched the sword to his right hand, extended his arm, and pointed the tip diagonally at his opponent, assuming an offensive stance.

Mo Daifu observed all this, yet didn’t rush to attack; he clasped his hands behind his back, his expression suddenly softening, and spoke in a gentle tone:

“Han Li, you’ve evaded me multiple times—truly beyond my expectations. But do you really think you’ll be as lucky as last time and escape my palm again? Your stepping technique is indeed wondrous, but it clearly has severe limitations; just from your stamina alone, you can’t possibly sustain another use. Surrender now! You should see I have no intention of seriously injuring you. Obey me, and things may not be as terrible as you imagine.”

Mo Daifu’s sudden shift in demeanor, like a chameleon, sent a chill of goosebumps down Han Li’s spine—the man alternated between acting like a benevolent master, then a heartless killer, and now spoke with solemn concern, urging him to surrender helplessly; Han Li didn’t know what to say—he truly believed Han Li would be so foolish as to fall for such a transparent trick?

Yet this speech actually strengthened Han Li’s confidence—if Mo Daifu hadn’t feared him, why resort to such childish deception?

In an instant, Han Li saw through everything clearly; he sighed, shook his head slightly, said nothing, and merely swung his dagger a few times toward his opponent, making his meaning perfectly clear.

The veins on Mo Daifu’s forehead throbbed violently; seeing Han Li ignore his plea and instead taunt him with his weapon, he could no longer suppress his rage.

“Ungrateful fool!”

He lunged forward with a giant step and snarled: “Zhi Chi Tian Ya.”

In an instant, his body floated forward as if the ground had shrunk beneath him, appearing only a few steps away from Han Li—astonishing beyond words.

Han Li seemed equally startled, his face filled with panic; he quickly retreated two steps, creating distance, then held his dagger horizontally before him, swirling it into a small shield of cold light to block Mo Daifu’s path—as if he’d completely forgotten the suffering he’d endured in their last encounter.

Mo Daifu sneered inwardly, naturally offering no warning; he split his palms and attacked from two directions simultaneously, ignoring the glimmering blade entirely.

Just as his silver hands were about to pierce through the swordlight, a clear, ringing laugh echoed from the opposite side—joyful and unrestrained, like a hunter’s triumphant chuckle upon seeing his prey step into a trap.

Mo Daifu’s heart tightened; he instinctively slowed his advance, his movement hesitating slightly—then he heard a cold, icy voice:

“Now, you’re the one who’s truly been fooled. Look at the dagger in my hand!”

At the sound, Mo Daifu involuntarily glanced at the dagger—only to see Han Li had stopped moving, now holding it in a strange posture: his upper body slightly arched backward, the dagger held level at his waist, his lower body coiled tight in a ready bow stance, his entire form resembling a man drawing a bow to shoot an arrow.

The dagger itself showed nothing unusual except a faint blue shimmer—Mo Daifu was baffled. Was this strange posture, combined with deceptive words, meant to confuse his mind and gain an unfair advantage?

Thinking this, Mo Daifu almost laughed aloud—he was about to mock Han Li—when suddenly Han Li surged forward like an arrow loosed from a powerful bow, shooting across the space with such speed that even Mo Daifu’s expression changed.

Mo Daifu hastily brought his split hands together, aiming to clamp the blade between his palms—when suddenly, the dagger before him flickered, splitting into a dozen identical blades, striking from all directions, indistinguishable in truth or illusion.

Mo Daifu snorted, lowering his estimation of Han Li further—before a master like himself, using such flashy, useless techniques was suicide; he could instantly spot the real blade.

So he widened his eyes, fixed his gaze on the true blade’s origin, kept his hand motion unchanged, and even accelerated his strike, determined to shatter the blade in one blow and leave Han Li defenseless.

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