King of Hundred Victories Saber

Shi Feiyang focused his gaze and saw that the masked man was actually Dugu yan.

Dugu yan’s fame in the Jianghu was illustrious, his Martial Arts profound; he had roamed the Jianghu for many years and had rarely met a match.

Yet at this moment, Dugu yan was easily knocked down by a single lash of Blood Rakshasa’s whip; it was truly beyond comprehension.

Shi Feiyang pondered to himself in secret: ”Could it be that he has been poisoned? With his Martial Arts, how could ordinary poison possibly harm him? Could it be Lan Xiaodie’s poison? That Demoness Lan Xiaodie is ruthless and vicious. She originally invited the Swordsmen of Mingjian Manor to aid the Five Poison Sect against me, yet today she has instead used poison to control Dugu yan in turn? What hidden story lies within this? And in which dark corner is Lan Xiaodie hiding now?”

In an instant Shi Feiyang’s thoughts surged like the tide, countless notions flashing swiftly through his mind as he tried to tease out a single clue.

Blood Rakshasa, however, seemed not to hear Dugu yan’s pained groans at all, paying him no heed.

In her heart there was only one thought: to catch in one net all these intruders who sought to break into Val Castle.

The treasure sword in her hand traced half an arc with great speed, the blade’s cold light flashing, carving a chilling trajectory through the night, like a dancing fairy in flight yet hiding endless killing intent, and in an instant it blocked the three weapons again!

Just as Blood Rakshasa turned to deal with Dugu yan, those three Samurai thought an opportunity had come. The one wielding the Tiger-Headed Hook leapt in from the side, launching a move called ”Azure Dragon Emerges from the Sea,” the hook driving forward with a whooshing wind straight toward Blood Rakshasa’s chest.

That Tiger-Headed Hook gleamed with cold light, like a flood dragon leaping from the sea, menacing and ferocious.

A glint of chill flashed in Blood Rakshasa’s eyes, like a shooting star in a winter night. Her treasure sword gave a light parry, and a crisp ”kacha” rang out, like silk tearing, especially jarring in the silent night sky; the crescent moon on the Tiger-Headed Hook was actually chopped off by two fangs!

The broken fangs shot out, sparkling with a cold radiance beneath the moonlight. Just then, the one wielding the iron crutch and the one wielding the iron sword also attacked from the center together; the iron crutch roared in with the force of a thousand jun, kicking up a spray of sand and gravel, while the iron sword struck like a venomous snake flicking its tongue, stabbing straight for Blood Rakshasa’s throat.

Yet Blood Rakshasa showed not the slightest fear. Her Liu Mei slanted upward, and with a delicate shout the treasure sword in her hand whirled rapidly as she unleashed ”Tianshan Peak”; layer upon layer of sword shadows wove a seamless net, each stroke seemingly carrying a blood-tinted glow, completely warding off the iron crutch and iron sword’s offensive.

At the same time, she flicked her left-hand long whip, which lashed out like a crimson rainbow, whistling through the air as she executed ”Ghost-Shadow Locking Throat,” driving straight for the Samurai’s throat who wielded the iron crutch. The whip tip let out a shrill whistle as it sliced through the air, as if rending the very atmosphere.

The treasure sword in Blood Rakshasa’s hand once more drew half an arc, her movement smooth as drifting clouds and flowing water, like butterflies dancing among flowers yet concealing boundless lethality.

This strike was incomparably precise, deflecting the ferocious Tiger-Headed Hook at just the right angle. The mighty Inner Strength contained within the blade had not yet spent its force; like a surging tidal wave, it sent the iron sword attacking from the side and the iron crutch howling down from above both jolting backward, flying away.

The Samurai wielding the Tiger-Headed Hook, seeing his companions’ offense thwarted, actually did not know life from death. A ruthless surge rose in his heart; he suddenly sank his weapon and bellowed hoarsely, ”Today I’ll fight you to the death!” With that, he drove the hook with all his might at Blood Rakshasa’s flank, striking with a resolve to die.

Seeing this, the face of Blood Rakshasa, already as cold as ice, instantly flared with wrath; flames of fury blazed in her eyes as if they would burn away all the world’s darkness. Her left-hand long whip lashed out like a Spiritual Snake leaving its hole, sweeping horizontally. The whip tip carved through the air with a shrill howl, like ghosts weeping and wolves wailing, as she shouted angrily, ”You fool who knows not life from death, drop it!”

That shout boomed like a great bell, carrying far through the silent night of the great desert, making people’s ears ring.

The Samurai wielding the Tiger-Headed Hook felt a force like mountains and seas crashing toward him. His tiger’s mouth jolted, and the Tiger-Headed Hook flew from his grasp, soaring into the air, glittering coldly in the moonlight as it traced a strange arc.

Blood Rakshasa had no intention of letting him go. Seizing the moment when his weapon was gone and his guard wide open, she suddenly darted forward, fast as lightning, her figure ghostly. The short sword in her hand flashed coldly, like a shooting star in a wintry night, and in an instant had stabbed a gaping hole clean through the Samurai’s body, the short sword piercing from his chest straight out his back.

The Samurai’s eyes bulged wide, filled with terror and disbelief, as though he could not accept that his life had been taken so easily by the enemy.

He tried to open his mouth to shout, but could only spit out a mouthful of fresh blood. His body swayed, then slowly collapsed.

The ground was instantly dyed red with blood; that Yanhong stain emitted a pungent, fishy reek under the dim moonlight, appearing exceptionally grim and terrifying.

The Samurai wielding the Tiger-Headed Hook had been the most skilled of the three, a man of some renown in the Jianghu in ordinary days, yet now, in close combat with Blood Rakshasa, he could not withstand even one or two exchanges before losing his life.

Upon seeing this, the other two felt their hearts pound with fright, every hair on their bodies standing on end; how would they dare step forward to vie for glory again?

The two exchanged a look and understood each other at once. Standing shoulder to shoulder, the iron crutch struck horizontally, the iron sword swung from the side, fighting as they retreated. At the same time, they let out piercing whistles, their sound sharp and ear-rending, like night owls crying, seemingly calling for reinforcements.

From atop the ancient fortress, Shi Feiyang saw everything clearly; in the distance beyond the ancient fortress, two black figures were racing in like arrows loosed from a bow.

Their speed was such that they seemed like meteors chasing the moon, raising a cloud of dust behind them.

With a single glance he could tell that they were using the superior Lightweight Technique of Eight-Step Catching Cicada, and he could not help being greatly astonished in his heart: ”How is it that in this great desert, in the depth of night, there are such experts arriving? Could they be Ha-ha Map’s helpers? But as far as I know, the Samurai beyond the passes are mostly skilled in fencing and mounted archery. Even those with good Lightweight Technique could hardly attain such a realm. This sort of Lightweight Technique clearly belongs to Inner Family masters among the Han people. With such skills, how would they be willing to act as accomplices to a tiger and help that villain Ha-ha Map in his atrocities?”