Chapter 52

Han Li’s face began to turn blue as he watched Master Mo raise the strange blade high above his head.

Under the sunlight, the blade’s edge glinted brilliantly, making its extraordinary sharpness even more terrifying.

A flicker of panic rose in his heart, but reason told him that the man had gone to such great lengths to capture him alive—there was no way he would kill him without a word; this was merely intimidation.

Thus, as the blade slowly descended from the air toward his body, he remained silent, forcing himself to maintain a calm expression.

Only when the blade’s tip was half an inch from his skull, and the tips of his hairs felt a chilling draft, did he slowly close his eyes, a faint thought of regret flickering through his heart.

“Does he really mean to kill me? If I’d known this, I should’ve begged for mercy sooner—there might still have been a chance to survive. I’m still so young; I don’t want to die like this. What would my parents feel when they hear of my death? Would they grieve? Would they regret sending me to the Seven Mysteries Sect…?”

At this critical juncture between life and death, Han Li’s mind flooded with chaotic thoughts, as if in an instant he had lived through all the joys, sorrows, partings, and reunions of life, gaining profound insight into mortality.

“Puch!” The sound of the blade piercing flesh echoed through the air.

Han Li’s body trembled slightly, but then he was startled—he felt no pain at all.

“What’s going on?” He opened his eyes in shock.

The moment he opened his eyes, Han Li froze in disbelief.

To his surprise, the strange blade was embedded deep into Master Mo’s own shoulder, its tip buried inside his body, leaving only the hilt—carved with a ghostly head—exposed and trembling slightly. So sharp was the blade that not a single drop of blood had leaked out, making the scene eerily unnatural.

As Han Li stared, dumbfounded, Master Mo spoke in his usual calm tone, praising him.

“Tsk tsk! Boy, you’ve got some guts—when a blade’s at your throat, you still don’t beg for mercy? Impressive!”

“Back in my days roaming the martial world, I’ve seen countless heroes who boasted they weren’t afraid of death. But once they fell into my hands, a little threat was enough to turn them all into cowards, groveling on the ground, begging for their lives like spineless worms.”

Han Li sat there stunned, mouth agape, unsure how to respond.

He had nearly broken down himself—he’d only held out this long because he’d stubbornly refused to yield, and at the last moment, he’d clung to a sliver of hope that the man wouldn’t really kill him, which had allowed him to bluff his way through. Besides, his pride was too thin to suddenly switch to groveling and beg.

Now, faced with Master Mo’s repeated praise, Han Li naturally didn’t bother to explain—but a storm of emotions rose within him, unsure whether to feel triumphant or defeated.

While Han Li was lost in thought, Master Mo swiftly plunged the remaining strange blades into his own body, each one embedded in a different spot, leaving only the ghost-headed hilts exposed.

When Han Li finally snapped back to reality, he was horrified to see seven blades total—embedded in Master Mo’s shoulders, thighs, lower abdomen, and chest—making him look from afar as if he’d been torn apart by a storm of blades.

Han Li stared, both amused and alarmed, realizing that this self-mutilation must be part of some extremely powerful technique—but was it meant for him?

After embedding the blades, Master Mo fell silent, bent forward, and sat cross-legged directly opposite Han Li, then closed his eyes, entering a trance, utterly oblivious to the world around him.

Han Li’s mind stirred—he sensed a rare chance to escape. He tried to move his limbs, but the moment he shifted, a crushing weight slammed onto his shoulders, paralyzing him instantly.

Han Li let out a bitter laugh—how could he have forgotten the giant? With that man standing guard, never leaving his side, how could he ever hope to flee?

It seemed Master Mo had planned everything before entering his trance—he had no fear of Han Li trying anything. This giant, named “Iron Slave,” was no ordinary man—he was as impervious as Master Mo’s “Demon Silver Hands,” his entire body immune to blades and spears, even the most vulnerable parts of a man. Han Li had been completely outmaneuvered today.

As Han Li silently cursed the giant, the other man before him began to undergo a grotesque transformation.

Master Mo’s face twitched violently, his whole body shaking uncontrollably, his features contorted by spasming muscles as if enduring unbearable agony. Combined with the blades jutting from his body, the sight was chillingly horrific, as if a cold, sinister aura was slowly rising within the room.

Suddenly, Master Mo’s trembling ceased, but a low, guttural roar erupted from deep within his throat—a primal, bestial sound. In that instant, Master Mo was no longer an old man—he was a wild beast that had burst from the forest.

Then came something even more terrifying: the ghostly mist that had once appeared on Master Mo’s face a year ago now reappeared.

This mist was vastly different from before—thicker, darker, and more oppressive. It settled over his face like a mask of pitch-black smoke, completely obscuring his true features.

The tendrils that writhed from the mist had undergone a radical transformation—the black mist flowing along them now gleamed with a slick, solid texture, as if they had become physical entities, undulating and lashing wildly across his face.

Master Mo’s fingers formed a lotus shape, gripping a strange hand seal, his lips moving faintly as if chanting incantations—but the sound was too low for Han Li to make out.

As Master Mo performed these strange actions, the mist on his face seemed to rage—like cold water poured into boiling oil, it churned violently, spewing forth more slender tendrils that writhed and clawed as if trying to halt his next move.

Just as the black mist reached its densest state, Master Mo opened his eyes. Through the thick veil of smoke, Han Li could still see the fierce, piercing light within them.

“Seven Ghosts Devour the Soul.”

Master Mo roared out the name of his secret technique.

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