Misaligned Force Erupts, Deterring Remaining Enemies

Chen Wuya slammed both hands downward, driving his short sword deep into the sand. The muscles along his arms tensed into iron-hard blocks. A searing force exploded from his dantian, surging backward through his meridians toward every limb and bone. Fine crackling sounds came from his skeleton, as though invisible hands were dismantling and reassembling it inch by inch.

The ground suddenly sank half an inch, then trembled violently. The layer of sand churned like rippling water, forcibly throwing up three assassins lurking underground. Blood spilled from their mouths and noses, and before they could regain their footing, they were swept into the wave of force. One tried to leap up and counterattack, only to be struck in the chest by a distorted current of air. He flew backward, slammed into the rock wall, then slid down without another sound.

Bai Zhi had her back pressed against a protruding rock, her left hand clutching the wound on her left arm while her flexible sword lay across her chest in her right. She saw Chen Wuya's figure swaying faintly amid the dust. The gash on his shoulder had split wider, blood dripping from the hem of his coarse cloth robes and striking dark spots into the sand.

Yet his eyes shone with startling brightness.

"Misaligned Force" was no longer merely a deviation within a move—it had completely broken free of the shackles of martial convention. He pulled back his short sword and shifted his footing. Instead of advancing with any known footwork, he cut straight into the heart of the enemy formation with steps that looked unsteady but were in fact precise. Before his blade even arrived, the air had begun to quake. The two assassins closing in from either side felt their weapons go numb in their hands, nearly unable