Seeing that the ice spike was about to pierce him, the demon instinctively reacted to danger at the critical moment, darting aside and precisely dodging it.
The ice spike embedded itself in the ground with several muffled thuds.
The demon did not attack Han Zhiqi. Instead, it crouched down, brought the bloodstained dirt in its hand to its nose, and sniffed it, a delighted expression appearing on its face.
Unable to restrain its craving for human blood, the demon hurriedly stuffed the dirt into its mouth. After chewing a few times, it noticed something was off about the taste and immediately spat it out.
It then took several more bites of the dirt in its hand, but it still was not right. Finally, it spat out all the dirt in its mouth, raised its head, and fixed Han Zhiqi with an icy gaze. It seemed to realize that the wonderful taste had come from the prey before it.
Han Zhiqi had originally intended to use his blood to divert the demon's attention and create an opening to strike, but he had not expected it to backfire and further stir its craving for blood.
The demon stared fixedly at Han Zhiqi and slowly began to approach him.
Han Zhiqi glanced back at the path up the mountain. Why hadn't that trainer made a move yet?
How much longer was he planning to test me?
Did he have to wait until my life was hanging by a thread before he would act?
In that brief moment of distraction, the demon suddenly kicked off the ground with all its strength and leaped again. Stimulated by the scent of blood, it was even faster and more powerful than before, stomping a crater into the earth.
With no other choice, Han Zhiqi could only continue circling with it. The chest the demon had kicked ached faintly, and his breathing was somewhat affected.
He had been hoping the trainer would intervene in time. That way, he would not have to keep desperately running for his life. Yet the man had still not appeared, leaving him unable to make sense of the situation.
Had his performance still not been satisfactory enough?
Since the trainer refused to help, he had no choice but to reassess the situation.
Initially, he had two options: flee or fight.
After analyzing them, he chose the second.
Of course, there were also two ways to fight. One was to avoid combat.
By dodging, counterattacking passively, and stalling for time, he could wait for the trainer to act.
The other was to face the enemy head-on.
Considering his physical condition, Han Zhiqi had chosen the first option: avoiding combat to buy time.
But the trainer had still not acted, and he began to worry that the demon's appearance might not have been a test at all.
After all, no one had told him before he came that there were demons on this mountain. It had all merely been his own speculation.
If this demon had truly appeared here by chance, and he continued following the first plan by stalling and waiting for the trainer's rescue, then perhaps the trainer would never arrive, and he would collapse from exhaustion first and become the demon's meal.
So from this moment on, he had to abandon every illusion and prepare for the worst.
There was no test, no trainer, and no hope that anyone would come to save him. Other than fighting with his life on the line, he had no other choice.
The demon darted into the nearby brush, moving swiftly beneath the cover of weeds. Occasionally, rustling came from a clump of grass, only to vanish again in an instant.
Han Zhiqi tightened his grip on the wooden stick and nervously watched the surrounding brush. At the slightest movement, he would turn to look.
Suddenly, the demon sprang from the brush behind Han Zhiqi and lunged at his back.
Han Zhiqi turned, but he was too late to dodge and was knocked to the ground by the demon.
The demon snarled, opening its bloody maw as it tried to bite his throat.
Han Zhiqi held the wooden stick across his chest, using it to block the demon's hands and mouth while desperately keeping it from getting closer. Then he kicked it in the stomach.
While it howled in pain, he used both hands to flip it onto the ground and scrambled to his feet.
"Shattering Timed Rain."
Han Zhiqi swung the wooden stick, flinging several ice spikes at the demon.
The demon hurriedly jumped aside to evade them, then leaped and darted from side to side, rapidly closing the distance between itself and Han Zhiqi.
Han Zhiqi retreated as he swung the wooden stick. As his stamina declined, the chill surrounding him gradually began to fade.
The demon seemed to notice this as well. It accelerated its attacks, constantly using rapid movements to wear down Han Zhiqi's focus and stamina, occasionally launching sneak attacks whenever he was not paying attention.
After a fierce clash, both sides had suffered injuries, but compared with the demon, Han Zhiqi was in far worse shape.
He was covered in mud from rolling on the ground. His chest was a bloody mess, the bandages had been torn apart by the demon's claws, and blood was congealing together with the dirt.
His body had already been weak, and now his face was deathly pale and drenched in sweat. With his chest badly injured, every breath sent a burning pain through his lungs.
Aside from several obvious claw wounds, he had countless other minor injuries.
The demon was not doing much better. Frozen wounds covered its body, and there was a large hole in its waist where the wooden stick had pierced it, likewise covered in ice and looking rather gruesome.
Although neither side was in good condition, there was one thing Han Zhiqi could not compare to: the demon did not tire and possessed endless stamina. If this continued, the demon would certainly win.
Clearly, both sides understood this reality. That was why the demon had given up its direct assault in favor of harassment, constantly draining Han Zhiqi's stamina.
Suddenly, Han Zhiqi accidentally stepped on a pebble, his foot slipped, and he fell backward.
How could the demon possibly let such a rare opportunity pass? With a few flashing leaps, it instantly appeared directly above Han Zhiqi, opening its mouth wide and aiming for his windpipe.
Han Zhiqi turned his head and looked straight at the demon. A cold smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he drew a deep breath and shouted, "Swift Ice Thorn!"
His right hand gripped a broken section of the wooden stick. It radiated cold as ice wrapped around it, turning it into a sharp spear that stabbed straight toward the demon's throat.
Swift Ice Thorn was a move Han Zhiqi had improvised. Back at the Butterfly Mansion, when he had dueled Aoi Kanzaki, he had seen her use a technique called Stinging Rain Ripple, and he had taken note of it.
The move was not difficult to learn. Its essence lay in twisting with the power of the waist, concentrating the strength of the entire body at a single point on the blade's tip, and thrusting swiftly.
His fall just now had been a deliberate opening offered to the demon, meant to lure it into attacking him.
He believed that even a demon would have no way to move its body nimbly in midair.
Sure enough, it had taken the bait.
The wooden stick viciously pierced the demon's throat, punching straight through it.
The demon let out a shrill scream and began twisting its body wildly.
Han Zhiqi's back slammed heavily into the ground. He used all his strength to swing the wooden stick, trying to fling off the demon hanging from it.
But he had not expected that, at the instant it pierced through, the wooden stick and the demon's neck would freeze together. As he flung the demon away, the stick also flew from his grasp.
The demon crashed into a large tree and fell into the brush.
Not long after, rustling came from the brush. The demon stumbled backward out of it, both hands clutching the wooden stick lodged in its neck as it desperately tried to pull it out. Strange gurgling sounds came from its mouth, like spring water bubbling up.
Han Zhiqi struggled to rise from the ground and dry-heaved several times. That impact had churned his stomach, and his head throbbed as if needles were piercing it.
He knew this was not the time to rest. His remaining stamina was only enough for one more attack.
Therefore, before the demon pulled out the wooden stick, he had to launch one final attack—at the very least, deprive it of its ability to move for a short time and buy himself a chance to escape.
Before you continue