His palm was still pressed against the seventh depression. Blood seeping through his fingers mixed with searing golden patterns, leaving a dark-red mark on the stone. The cold current rising from underground was still surging, but its rhythm had changed.
No longer steady as a pendulum, it had become rapid and chaotic, as though something had driven it to its limit.
Chen Wuya slowly raised his head, his gaze passing through the swaying blue light to settle on the leader. The man's right foot had only drawn back halfway, while his left shoulder sagged more heavily than before and his breath hitched for an instant—this was the price of forcibly accelerating. The opening had not been concealed; it had instead been stretched wider.
Now.
He lightly tapped the ground three times with his fingertips. The taps were soft, yet carried the vibrational frequency of Misaligned Force, as though knocking directly upon the heart.
Bai Zhi's eyes sharpened, and her sword tip lifted slightly. She did not wait, nor could she.
At the instant the leader finished retracting his second move and his true qi flowed back, she kicked off the ground and shot forward like an arrow loosed from the string. Her longsword did not aim for a vital point, but thrust straight at his wrist vein. The strike was so swift it nearly tore the air apart, forcing him to change his move.
Mo Feng struck at the same time.
The water vortex in his palm burst open, transforming into a thin stream that shot toward the northern depression. Water vapor collided with the blue light with a soft "hiss." The restriction shuddered violently, and its glow flickered.
The leader's brow tightened sharply.
He could have killed Bai Zhi first, or suppressed Mo Feng. But he could not allow