The Final Showdown, Slaying All Remaining Enemies

Chen Wuya pressed his palm to the ground, Misaligned Force seeping into the sand like a thin stream. He did not move, his breathing kept extremely low, but his gaze remained locked on the rubble behind the mouth of the valley. That faint tremor just now had been slight, yet it carried a rhythm—not wind, nor falling rocks, but people.

Bai Zhi stood half a step behind him to the side, her flexible sword already three inches out of its sheath. Her fingers clasped the hilt, and she said nothing. She knew that at this moment, she could neither ask nor rush.

Another nearly imperceptible tremor came through the ground, briefer than before, like footsteps that had halted and then withdrawn. Chen Wuya's mouth twitched slightly. He abruptly released the force in his palm, drove the broken blade into the sand with a backhand motion, and slowly raised both arms as if setting up the formation anew. Misaligned Force rippled out in expanding rings, imitating the rhythm of seven squads about to close in from all sides.

What he was waiting for was the moment his opponent's heartbeat went awry.

Sure enough, before ten breaths had passed, grains of sand slipped lightly from the edge of that pile of rubble. Someone was about to move.

"Three zhang to the left, the rock crevice!" Chen Wuya jerked his head up. His voice was not loud, yet it split the silence like a blade.

Bai Zhi had long been poised to strike. Her figure flashed, and her flexible sword shot out like a silver serpent leaving its den, stabbing straight ahead. Before the sword tip arrived, its force did, blowing away every speck of dust that blocked their sight.

A black shadow sprang from the rock crevice, crossing twin blades to block.