Panic was a foreign concept to Shen Mo. In his world, panic was a luxury that got you killed. But as he and Ghost 1 fled through the rugged, moonlit wilderness, a cold, sharp tendril of something dangerously close to it coiled in his gut.
Behind them, the pursuit was relentless. The auras of the two seventh-level protectors were like hounds latched onto his scent, closing the distance with professional, ground-eating strides. The Twin Jades, though weaker, were fueled by righteous fury, their combined presence a sharp sting to his senses. But it was the other aura, the one that was rapidly approaching from the direction of the canyons, that truly terrified him. Elder Jin. The ninth-level expert was a tidal wave of killing intent, a force of nature that was closing the gap at an impossible speed.
His mind, already strained from controlling two active clones during a high-intensity battle, was now a chaotic storm. He was processing the terrain ahead through his own eyes, the view of his pursuers through Ghost 1's backward glances, and the distant, steady progress of Ghost 2 as it made its way towards the rendezvous point. The first layer of his [Nine-Layered Pagoda Meditation] was groaning under the pressure, cracks beginning to form in its metaphysical walls.
He was bleeding Qi at an alarming rate. The constant use of [Void Flash Step] to maintain their lead was a massive drain, and his internal injuries from Kang's trap ached with every jarring step. He made a cold, brutal calculation. They could not outrun a ninth-level expert. Not together.
His only option was to divide their forces. To sacrifice a piece to save the whole.
"Split," his mind commanded, a single, sharp thought that was both an order and an acceptance of the grim necessity.
At a fork in a rocky ravine, the two identical, shadow-veiled figures diverged without breaking stride. Shen Mo veered left, scrambling up a steep, treacherous slope littered with loose scree. Ghost 1 went right, continuing down the main path of the ravine, a more obvious and easier route to follow. It was a calculated gamble. He was betting that the four pursuers would follow the easier path, the one taken by the clone they had already wounded.
Through Ghost 1's senses, he saw them arrive at the fork. As he predicted, the two protectors and the twins didn't hesitate. They charged down the right path, their killing intent focused entirely on the fleeing clone. They had taken the bait.
But Elder Jin was different.
Shen Mo felt the ninth-level expert's vast spiritual sense wash over the area. It was not a simple sweep, but a fine, meticulous net that analyzed every detail. It lingered on the path Ghost 1 had taken, then swept over the slope Shen Mo was currently climbing. The elder was not fooled by the simple diversion. He could likely sense the subtle differences in their auras—the deeper reserves of the main body versus the slightly more ethereal nature of the clone.
A wave of cold dread washed over Shen Mo as he felt the full, undivided attention of the ninth-level expert lock onto him. The hunt had just become a one-on-one affair, a race he had no hope of winning.
He pushed his body harder, his lungs burning, his muscles screaming in protest. He had to put as much distance as possible between himself and the elder, to find some terrain, any terrain, that he could use to his advantage.
Simultaneously, he was experiencing Ghost 1's final, desperate flight. The clone was fast, but its pursuers were relentless. The female protector, with her rapier-like speed, was gaining. The canyon walls closed in, the terrain offering no escape. Ghost 1 was cornered in a small, circular basin at the end of the ravine.
The four figures surrounded it, their weapons drawn, their faces grim masks of righteous fury.
"Nowhere left to run, demon," the male protector growled.
Ghost 1 didn't reply. It simply raised its sword, its posture a perfect mirror of Shen Mo's own fighting stance. It was a cornered wolf, ready to sell its life dearly.
The battle was short and brutal. The twins attacked first, their synchronized blades a web of deadly light. Ghost 1, with its wounded arm, parried the first few blows, but it was a hopeless struggle. The male protector charged in, his heavy saber a crushing blow that the clone was forced to meet. The impact shattered the pale gray sword and sent the clone stumbling back.
In that instant, the female protector struck. Her rapier was a streak of silver lightning, piercing through Ghost 1's chest and shattering its core of Qi.
The moment the clone was destroyed, an explosion of pure, undiluted agony ripped through Shen Mo's soul.
He screamed, a raw, guttural sound torn from his throat, and collapsed onto the rocky slope. It was not a physical pain, but something far worse. It felt as if a third of his very being, a fundamental piece of his consciousness, had been violently ripped out and set on fire. The mental link, which had been a clear thread of information, snapped, and the backlash was a psychic tsunami.
His vision went white. The world dissolved into a meaningless swirl of color and sound. The carefully constructed walls of his mental pagoda shattered, and the chaotic sensory input he had been holding back flooded his mind. He felt the phantom pain of the rapier piercing his own chest, saw the triumphant faces of his four enemies, and felt the cold, empty void where a part of his soul used to be. The world spun, and a wave of nausea so profound it nearly made him pass out washed over him.
He lay there, twitching on the ground, his mind a battlefield of fractured thoughts and phantom sensations. He was utterly, completely incapacitated.
It was in this moment of absolute vulnerability that Elder Jin arrived.
He descended from the sky like a hawk, his sky-blue robes billowing around him. He landed silently on the slope a dozen feet from Shen Mo, his stern face a mask of cold, murderous rage. He looked down at the writhing, shadow-veiled figure on the ground, his eyes filled with contempt.
"So, this is the great assassin," the elder's voice was low, but it carried the weight of immense power. "A pathetic creature, brought to its knees by the death of a mere puppet."
Shen Mo's mind was slowly, painfully reasserting control. The white-hot agony was subsiding into a throbbing, soul-deep migraine. He could feel a gaping wound in his spiritual consciousness, a permanent injury that would take months, if not years, of dedicated soul-tempering to heal. The imparted knowledge had warned of "grievous spiritual damage." It had not done the reality justice.
He pushed himself into a sitting position, his body trembling with the aftershocks of the feedback. He looked up at the towering figure of the ninth-level expert. He was wounded, mentally shattered, and his Qi was in chaos. He was in no condition to fight.
"Your tricks are at an end, demon," Elder Jin said, taking a slow step forward. "You have cost my sect dearly tonight. I will take your head back to the elders, and then we will find out who hired you. The Paid Ferrymen will pay for this insult."
Shen Mo's mind raced, desperately searching for a way out. He was too weak to fight, too slow to run. His only remaining asset was Ghost 2, which was still miles away, moving towards the original rendezvous point, completely unaware of the disaster that had unfolded. He could try to call it back, but it would never arrive in time.
He needed to buy time. He needed a miracle.
He reached for his sword, his hand shaking.
Elder Jin scoffed. "You still intend to resist? You are a sixth-level cultivator, grievously wounded in soul and body. I am at the peak of the ninth level. The chasm between us is as wide as the heavens. Allow me to show you."
The elder didn't even draw a weapon. He simply raised his hand, and the spiritual energy of the world answered his call. The very air around Shen Mo grew heavy, thick as water, pressing in on him from all sides. It was raw, absolute power, the effortless control of a master over his domain. Shen Mo felt his bones creak, his lungs struggling to draw breath. He was being crushed by the sheer weight of his opponent's cultivation.
This was the power of a peak Foundation Establishment expert. It was a power that made his own skills, his own cunning, feel like a child's game.
"Now," Elder Jin said, his voice a cold, final judgment. "You will die."
He clenched his fist, and the pressure intensified. Shen Mo's vision began to tunnel, the world fading to black at the edges. He was going to die. Here, on this barren slope, his new life as an assassin was about to come to a short, brutal end.
But as the darkness threatened to consume him, a new sensation pierced through the fog of pain and despair. It was a mental thread, a familiar presence. Ghost 2. It had felt the violent severing of its twin's connection.It was running. It was running towards him with all the speed it could muster.
Shen Mo finally resolved himself, he would not die here. He would not die kneeling.
With a final, desperate roar of effort, he pushed back against the crushing pressure, raising his head to meet the elder's gaze, his own crimson eyes, visible even through the swirling shadow of his veil, blazing with a light that was equal parts agony and unyielding defiance.