An icy silver corpse claw reached for Mo Hua's chest, as though it meant to rip open his belly and spill his guts.
Given the strength of Mo Hua's physical body, if that corpse claw pierced his chest, he would undoubtedly die.
Mo Hua's gaze turned faintly stern. Before the corpse claw arrived, he lightly tapped his feet against the ground. His body bent supple as water, graceful as a startled swan, skimming the ground as he evaded the killing blow. The Silver Corpse Elder's expression hardened. Shaking the silver-patterned Bronze Bell in his hand, he continued urging the Ice Baleful Silver Corpse to pounce on Mo Hua and kill him.
Yet Mo Hua was like a fish in water, a loach in mud—so slippery that he could not be grasped.
The savage silver corpse's claws gleamed with cold light, its claw marks weaving a net through the air. It pounced and killed for more than twenty exchanges, even accidentally slaughtering three Corpse Valley disciples and spilling blood all over the ground, yet it still had not touched Mo Hua once.
One touch, and Mo Hua would die.
But if it could not touch him even once, there was nothing it could do.
Young Master Shi frowned, recalling his earlier clash with Mo Hua, his eyes dark and gloomy.
The Silver Corpse Elder looked grim, but his heart gave a slight jolt.
This boy's movement technique was nimble, his footwork mysterious, his transformations fluid as water, his control exquisitely subtle. It truly carried the ineffable spirit of an antelope hanging its horns, leaving no trace to follow.
And the most mysterious thing was not even his movement technique.
After all, he was only at the Foundation Establishment Peak Stage. No matter how good his movement technique was, he could not