192: Chapter 192 Han Qingxue Arrives

Several poison mist vines were ground to pieces; the short man did not dare approach that sword wind.

The bald burly man's mountain-splitting axe collided with the sword wind, and amidst a heaven-shaking roar, both men retreated simultaneously.

Several poison mist vines were ground to pieces; the short man did not dare approach that sword wind.

The bald burly man's mountain-splitting axe collided with the sword wind, and amidst a heaven-shaking roar, both men retreated simultaneously.

Ye Yun retreated five steps.

Each step left a deep footprint on the ground. His blood surged in his chest, and a trace of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.

The bald burly man retreated three steps.

He looked down at his chest, where a shallow sword mark had just cut the skin, oozing a line of blood beads.

"This kid's sword technique is not bad."

The bald burly man wiped the blood from his chest with the back of his hand and grinned. "But that's all. Again!"

The four men pounced once more.

Ye Yun fought while retreating.

The burning snow sword in his hand turned into a sky full of sword shadows, blocking the siege from four directions.

His sword technique was extremely fast and ruthless; every strike landed precisely on the weak points of his opponents' attacks, disrupting the four men's coordination time and again.

But he knew that if this continued, he would be the first to give out.

The injury on his left arm was worsening, and every sword swing brought sharp pain to his shoulder blade.

Although the Mystic Power in his body recovered extremely fast under the blessing of the Hehuan Daoist Body, the speed of consumption was even faster.

More importantly, Zhou Heng's poison technique was too bizarre.

Even if those poison mist vines were ground up by the Sword Qi, the residual poison gas would still seep in bit by bit.

It caused his Meridians to begin showing subtle signs of stagnation.

Ten moves.

Twenty moves.

Fifty moves.

Ye Yun gained two more new injuries. One was on his right arm, struck by a chain; the flesh was torn open, and the edges had already turned black.

One was on his back, hit by a palm strike from Zhou Heng. A dark green palm print was etched onto his skin, frantically boring poison into his Meridians.

The bald burly man swung his axe again.

Ye Yun blocked, and at the moment the burning snow sword and the mountain-splitting axe collided.

He suddenly felt the Mystic Power in his Dantian experience a moment of stagnation.

That was a sign of the toxin invading his Dantian.

He forcibly circulated his Pure Yang Mystic Power to push back the toxin, but that single moment of stagnation allowed the bald burly man to seize an opening.

The mountain-splitting axe pressed down, and Ye Yun fell to one knee, his knee smashing a shallow pit into the ground.

At the same time, Zhou Heng's Poison Palm had already reached the back of his heart.

Ye Yun wanted to dodge, but a chain had somehow wrapped around his ankle, pinning him firmly in place.

The twin-blade man's blade pierced from the side, sealing off his last bit of space to evade.

A thought flashed through Ye Yun's mind: this palm strike, he probably couldn't avoid it.

Just then, an extremely cold voice came from above.

"Seeking death."

An ice-blue sword light slashed down from the sky, as fast as a real bolt of lightning.

The sword light accurately struck Zhou Heng's right arm.

Zhou Heng gave a muffled groan, and his entire body was sent flying sideways, the sleeve on his right arm instantly shattering.

A sword wound deep enough to see bone appeared on his arm, and blood gushed out.

If he hadn't turned his body to dodge at the critical moment, it wouldn't have been his sleeve that was cut off, but his entire arm.

Zhou Heng retreated several zhang before stabilizing himself, looking down at the horrific wound on his arm.

His face was so gloomy it looked as if it could drip water.

The bald burly man, the twin-blade man, and the Skinny all retreated simultaneously, looking warily in the direction the sword light had come from.

A figure in plain white descended from the sky.

Her robes fluttered and her long hair streamed in the wind. In her hand was an entirely azure longsword that gleamed with a cold luster under the sunlight.

She landed in front of Ye Yun, shielding him behind her.

Her posture was upright like a winter plum, her temperament cold as ice and snow, and there was no expression on her exquisite face.

Only deep within her eyes surged a trace of cold killing intent.

Han Qingxue.

Ye Yun looked at this familiar back, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

Senior Sister Qingxue, why is she here?

Han Qingxue did not look back, only saying indifferently.

"Junior Brother, can you still stand up?"

"I can."

Ye Yun propped himself up with the burning snow sword and stood. The pain in his left arm caused fine beads of sweat to break out on his forehead, but the corner of his mouth hooked up slightly.

Now there was no need to run.

Zhou Heng clutched the wound on his arm, his gaze falling on Han Qingxue. A flash of surprise crossed his eyes, which was immediately replaced by gloom.

"Someone from the Luoxue Sect. A mere Inner Sect Disciple dares to meddle in the affairs of my Tianyang Academy?"

Han Qingxue didn't look at him at all.

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze falling on the wounds on Ye Yun's body.

Especially the palm print on his back that was still oozing blood, and the black scar on his right arm from the chain.

Her brow furrowed slightly, then she turned around and looked at Zhou Heng's group of four.

In those eyes, as cold as a wintry pool, there were no extra emotions, only a layer of icy killing intent.

She slightly raised the azure longsword in her hand, the tip pointing diagonally toward the ground.

The ice-blue mystic light flowing on the sword blade trailed a long, thin tail of light in the cold late-autumn wind.

Tiny ice crystals faintly condensed in the air and then quietly dissipated.

Her gaze moved past the sword's edge and landed on Zhou Heng.

In those eyes, as cold as a wintry pool, there were no extra emotions, only a layer of icy killing intent.

"You injured him."

It wasn't a question; it was a statement.

Her tone was as flat as if she were talking about the weather.

Yet Zhou Heng felt an inexplicable chill crawl up his back.

The way this woman looked at him was not like she was looking at a living person.

But he quickly suppressed that trace of unease.

He had two Half-step Martial Spirits on his side.

Both he and the bald burly man were solid Half-step Martial Spirit Realms.

Although the Skinny and the short man were slightly weaker, they were both Great Martial Master Ninth Level.

Four people, two Half-step Martial Spirits—such a lineup could already walk horizontally in this area.

The opponent was just one Half-step Martial Spirit plus one Peak Great Martial Master. Even if this white-clothed woman's sword technique was superlative.

The advantage in numbers and Realm was enough to bridge the gap.

"So what if I injured him?"

Zhou Heng sneered and took a Medicinal Pill from his robes, stuffing it into his mouth. The sword wound on his arm began to stop bleeding at a speed visible to the naked eye.

"Not only did I injure him, but since you don't know what's good for you, don't even think about leaving today either."

Han Qingxue didn't waste any more words with him.

She moved.

Her figure vanished from the spot, leaving only a slowly dissipating ice-blue afterimage.

In the next instant, she appeared in front of Zhou Heng. The azure longsword, carrying a biting cold air, slashed down.

Zhou Heng's pupils shrank. He thrust out both palms, and the dark green poison mist condensed into a thick mist shield in front of him.

The sword edge slashed against the mist shield.

The mist shield instantly froze and then shattered.

Countless ice crystal fragments flew backward, and Zhou Heng was knocked back several steps by this single strike.

His arms were covered in a thin layer of frost, and the poison mist was suppressed by the cold air until it almost stagnated.

"Baldy!"

Zhou Heng shouted sharply.

The bald burly man pounced from the side. The earthy-yellow light on his mountain-splitting axe surged as he swept it toward Han Qingxue's waist.

The thick Mystic Power of a Half-step Martial Spirit was poured into this axe strike.

The air was torn wherever the axe blade passed, letting out a piercing whistle.

"Little girl, take an axe from your grandpa!"

Han Qingxue did not even turn her head.