Chapter 255: Empty Hands

  When he saw Yabin escorting Talise out, Ethan already had a vague idea of what was happening.

  A reckless and rash person, especially one with an overdeveloped sense of justice, could never become Knight Tamika's companion, and would only get in the way. And a man like Knight Tamika would obviously never allow an obstruction to exist, so Talise's situation was not surprising.

  As for Yabin, this kid was clever and lively, with good judgment, so it wasn't impossible for him to get close to Knight Tamika. But the key was that he knew Yabin would definitely make a move to give him an opportunity in this situation, that he would save Talise. When the time came, the one whose mind would be thrown into chaos wouldn't be him, but only Knight Tamika.

  Just as Knight Tamika's voice fell, as he raised his sword, Yabin's sword had already struck, and at the same time, he was pulling Talise back in a rapid retreat.

  This was the opportunity, so Ethan moved immediately. If he wanted to break through the encirclement of this trap, he had to seize the chance when Knight Tamika would be thrown into disarray by the unexpected event. So he leaped up with all his might.

  But the moment he leaped, he realized he was wrong. This was not the opportunity he had envisioned, but one deliberately left for him by his opponent.

  This trap hadn't just factored him in; Yabin was also part of the calculation. Almost at the same moment Yabin made his move, the Templar standing behind him, who was guarding Talise, swung his sword at their backs.

  Ethan instantly drew his sword and threw it at the Templar. The Battle Qi attached to the blade prevented it from piercing through; instead, it directly sent the Templar flying. But even so, that sword still struck Yabin. At the same time, Knight Tamika's blade flashed, and Yabin's arm flew into the air.

  Ethan's heart sank. He knew he had likely fallen completely into the opponent's trap. At the very least, his sword had already been thrown away. And his mind was already in chaos; he knew his own actions had long been anticipated by his opponent.

  His body, soaring through mid-air, collided with some spiderweb-thin threads in the air. Then, bolts of lightning and fireballs from three or four different directions struck him down at once. The moment he landed, the magical fluctuations around him, like a volcanic eruption, made him understand that he had triggered other magic traps. So he had only one choice: to charge, to force his way through.

  He now knew that nineteen different kinds of magic traps were hidden in this pool of blood, because these traps were linked together in a peculiar way. He had only triggered one when he landed. The other eighteen had erupted simultaneously, unleashing their magic from different angles, with different methods and time delays, all pouring down upon him.

  Flames that could almost melt steel swirled around him, searching for any gap to turn the flesh there into charcoal. Earth spikes, condensed and transformed by magic, continuously slammed against his body, their tips, as hard as rock, shattering upon collision with his Battle Qi. Lightning also frantically leaped and danced on the surface of his Battle Qi.

  Even wilder than these magical elements was the Battle Qi within his body. This power of life was desperately pouring outward. He felt as if his flesh, blood, and life force were also spraying out of his body along with the Battle Qi. This was a true, life-or-death struggle, because if he didn't fight, he would die. He advanced through this raging sea that could turn others into meat paste, forcing his way on, breaking through the flames, shattering the earth spikes, repelling the lightning, carving a path through this ocean of magic with brute force.

  And in the end, he broke through. The Battle Qi on his body extinguished, and the sea of magical explosions behind him also faded as quickly as a flash in the pan.

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  Being able to force his way out of the encirclement of these magic traps, Ethan was certain that the power he had displayed in those few short moments could be compared to Gru's. Regardless of the current situation. A feeling of proud satisfaction couldn't help but surface in his heart.

  But it could only surface for a moment. The instant he broke out, the black Fangs longsword was already there to greet him with the enthusiasm of one who had been waiting for a long time.

  That Battle Qi and momentum, comparable to Gru's, was something he had achieved only by nearly mutilating himself, madly expelling his Battle Qi. Now, his muscles and energy were at their lowest ebb, and this strike was aimed precisely at this moment. The blade was as fast as lightning, as violent as thunder. The howl it emitted, its dark fluctuations, and its momentum were all one, like a hundred evil ghosts and hungry spirits, starved for a hundred years, condensed into a single, swarming mass.

  In truth, this strike could have been faster, more violent, and more unstoppable, but Knight Tamika had not expected that Yabin would act before him, and not even care about the sword he was swinging at him. He had only dodged slightly, at the cost of an arm, to land a stab of his own. Although it wasn't a significant injury, it still affected his movements, preventing him from gathering his full spirit and strength to deliver this originally fatal strike.

  But it seemed this was already enough. Compared to Knight Tamika not being able to focus his full strength, Ethan had absolutely no strength left to concentrate.

  A green fireball appeared in Ethan's palm and flew toward Knight Tamika. But the moment this fireball touched the raging tide mixed with blade intent, sword energy, and killing intent, it silently dissipated, devoured. The sky-filling blackness, evolved from the Necromancy-imbued blade light, was not an illusion; it was something that could truly shred, devour, and annihilate everything before it.

  Ethan could only use all his strength to retreat. He used both hands to forcefully meet the incoming tide of wronged souls and fierce ghosts. He could also see that this strike was absolutely impossible to receive with empty hands, but his sword was gone, his Battle Qi was completely depleted, and an instant-cast spell was useless. All he had left were his hands.

  He couldn't receive it, but if he couldn't, he would die, without the slightest chance to struggle. This long-unfelt taste of death made every single one of his nerves scream. He let out a roar he hadn't voiced in a long time. He opened his meditation technique to its fullest, all his consciousness contracting into a single point in his mind. Apart from the blade before him, the entire world was empty.

  The entire world was empty, so he could see what he needed to see.

  The speed of this strike brought forth power, the power brought forth momentum, the momentum brought forth change, and the change brought forth an unavoidable angle. All factors were wrapped in the thick killing intent, fused into one. From this, he could clearly see all of Knight Tamika's movements as he thrust the strike. He could even "hear" the hum of the tightening muscles in Knight Tamika's hand from the tremor of the blade.

  Ethan's hands came together, his palms clamping the long sword between them. No matter how vast the killing intent and momentum this strike unleashed, it was, after all, just a single sword.

  But being clamped between them was not the same as being stopped. Just as a loaf of bread placed in the path of a swinging axe is not the same as the bread blocking the axe. Ethan could clearly feel that under the incomparably sharp sword energy, the skin and flesh on his hands were like bread soaked in water, dissolving and scattering at the slightest touch. And it wasn't just this surface damage; the Necromancy curse, now one with the blade's momentum, was surging madly into his body. The flesh of his palms died and withered in an instant. If it weren't for his own Necromancy and white magic being strong enough to resist, this curse alone would have been enough to kill him a hundred times over.

  One advance, one retreat—the figures of the two became a single line, carrying a sky full of black shadows and killing intent, flying into the distance.

  This retreat was a retreat with no way back. Ethan's figure was already completely enveloped by this strike. Branches, leaves, the grass on the ground were all torn into the air by the overflowing blade light and the power of the curse, turning into gray, pulped ash that rained down.

  He was retreating, but the blade was still advancing. However, because of this advance and retreat, its nature had changed from a chop to a thrust. The slight resistance from his palms was completely insignificant. With a soft "puft" sound, the blade entered his flesh without hindrance. Muscles, ribs, and internal organs were no different from paper under this strike's power and destructive force. Before it even truly made contact, his body had already been reduced to fragments that shot out from the other side. The blade entered through his right chest and exited from his back shoulder, punching a fist-sized hole through Ethan's body.

  With a loud "CRASH," a large tree behind Ethan was directly shattered. Wood chips flew everywhere, like a rainstorm made of wood. Then, the second tree in the same line was snapped in two at the waist. The sword energy, blade light, and magical power that had passed through his body finally dissipated completely.

  Knight Tamika was quite stunned. The power of this strike should not have been like this; its remaining momentum should not have had such destructive power. Almost ninety percent of its force had passed through his opponent's body and shattered the trees behind, with only a little over ten percent of its power actually wounding him. The wound this strike should have inflicted on his opponent's body should have been at least three times larger and wider, and the killing intent and magical power should have penetrated, shattering all the magic power, Battle Qi, and muscles throughout his body.

  He immediately understood. Although those palms had no Battle Qi left and could barely affect the blade's trajectory, it wasn't that they had absolutely no effect. At the same moment that the flesh on his palms was torn and his bones fractured, some very fine forces still influenced this strike.

  These forces were minuscule; compared to the power of this strike, they were like the difference between a drop of water and the Yangtze River. But they didn't obstruct it; instead, they merged into the strike's power. This drop of water first influenced the dozen or so drops around it, and then those dozen drops influenced hundreds of others, finally affecting the entire river, causing the power of this strike to become more concentrated.