Chapter Sixty-Seven: Slain with a Single Sword

The sword gleamed with a cold light, its aura extending five or six meters. Zhao Nan saw only the opponent’s deathly still face. His hair clung to his forehead, obscuring his eyes except for a glimmer of ferocity.

A small fireball—

Zhao Nan thrust his palm forward. The fireball exploded against Nanyang Sheng’s chest, but did nothing to slow the descending sword aura. The blade’s brilliance hovered above his brow, its icy light threatening to blind him.

Clang—

A crisp sound rang out. The Sighing Staff instinctively moved to block the sword aura, like an instrument struck in a symphony. Nanyang Sheng’s expression shifted, surprised that his desperate attack was still parried. Cold sweat drenched Zhao Nan; he seized the moment to leap back with all his strength, retreating several meters.

Fire Dragon Strike!

A massive dragon’s head burst forth from his hand, roaring flames raising heat and brightness. Zhao Nan no longer cared why Nanyang Sheng had ambushed him. All he knew was that without the Rock Armor he’d cast beforehand, that sneak attack might have been fatal… The Earth Swordmaster’s offensive power was immense.

Nanyang Sheng snorted coldly. The sword aura still shimmered atop his great blade. He leapt, swinging down from above, cleaving the dragon’s head in two as he advanced.

This was the Earth Swordmaster’s ability—his sword aura imbued with anti-magic properties. That was the true source of his confidence. Once a mage is engaged by a close-combat class, their safety drops to its lowest; Zhao Nan had performed such violent mage-killings himself and understood the dangers intimately.

Zhao Nan drew a deep breath. The Earth Swordmaster’s anti-magic effect was strong, but its duration was not long.

Windflash Wings!

A pair of translucent wings formed from air currents sprouted from Zhao Nan’s back. He smirked coldly; if Nanyang Sheng thought he could kill him up close, he was making a foolish mistake.

“You think that putting distance between us means I can’t catch you?” Nanyang Sheng sneered, quickly pulling a pitch-black orb from his chest and hurling it forcefully to the ground.

The orb struck, bursting open with a bang. Countless threads shot out, crisscrossing until, in moments, they formed a massive net, covering the ground—a giant spiderweb.

Predator Spider Silk, one of the secret treasures. It unfurls into a vast web, trapping all enemies within fifty meters. It was a reward dropped by level 10 standard dungeon bosses.

Zhao Nan had tried several times to obtain it, but it eluded him, only to appear now in Nanyang Sheng’s hands. Luck favored him, it seemed.

Zhao Nan could not move. His legs were tightly entangled in the web. With the Earth Swordmaster’s anti-magic ability, Nanyang Sheng was confident of victory, a cruel smile playing on his lips, with no intention of drawing out his triumph.

His sword strikes remained swift.

Ice Crystal Wall.

A thick wall of ice formed instantly, splitting in two and falling on either side.

Twin Cyclone Spin!

Nanyang Sheng pressed forward, sword in hand, resisting the whirling winds. His pace slowed, but now he was barely ten meters from Zhao Nan. Ten meters—just ten steps for an ordinary person.

“Why did you ambush me?”

Zhao Nan kept casting a barrage of skills, forcing Nanyang Sheng to advance step by step.

Five steps.

Four steps.

Three steps.

“You’re carrying plenty of good stuff, aren’t you?” Nanyang Sheng laughed madly. “Though you’re a powerful mage, once it’s close combat, you can’t use your full strength.”

Zhao Nan sighed… so it was just this simple reason: for the spoils.

He relaxed his hands, the Sighing Staff resting against the ground, caught in the web’s mesh like an old man’s cane, barely able to move.

“Giving up?” Nanyang Sheng’s laughter grew even more gleeful, savoring the imminent victory. “The End of the World” had probably slain the level 10 dungeon boss three times—how much loot did Zhao Nan carry? What would drop upon his death? All tantalizing prospects.

Zhao Nan merely shook his head.

The two were only two steps apart. If Nanyang Sheng thrust his sword, he could pierce Zhao Nan’s abdomen and, with the blade’s breadth, split his torso in two.

Swish, swish.

Ten black shadows shot forth in a flash—barbed vines twined around Nanyang Sheng’s feet, and within a breath, they bound his whole body, locking his arms.

Now that Zhao Nan knew the answer, he would no longer be passive. The man’s patience was remarkable, waiting until two steps away to speak.

“I’ve seen this skill before. You think I’d fall for it?” Nanyang Sheng scoffed. Though his arms were bound, his wrists moved, quickly severing two vines.

His wrist’s rotation spun the great sword as well—such wrist strength was absurdly powerful. He ignored the vines and swung down.

At that moment, a flash of gold—while the sword descended like lightning, the Sighing Staff struck Nanyang Sheng’s wrist with uncanny precision.

The staff’s tip was slender and round. Zhao Nan jabbed with all his might, hitting the softest spot, causing Nanyang Sheng to wince in pain. The self-proclaimed powerful wrist now lost all feeling.

His grip loosened, the great sword plunged into the earth, blade half-buried. Even without skills, its sheer weight could kill.

“In fact, most close-combat classes are more dangerous when near me… At this range, you think you can dodge my spells?”

Zhao Nan sneered. Nanyang Sheng was quick, but could he be faster than a gust of wind at two steps’ distance?

Windblade Assault!

Azure wind blades bloomed around Nanyang Sheng like chrysanthemums, slicing through the remaining eight vines in an instant.

-100! -100! …

Eight hundred points of fixed damage in a flash, not counting additional wind blade hits. His chest was torn open, revealing dark leather armor beneath his clothes.

Nanyang Sheng’s expression hardened. He reached for the fallen sword, but Zhao Nan would not allow it. The swiftest fireball shot forth, exploding on his hand and shredding flesh.

Nanyang Sheng instinctively retreated, face flickering with shock as he sized up Zhao Nan. Within a breath or two, he regained composure and spoke softly, “I don’t only have one sword.”

Indeed, he had more than one sword, just as Zhao Nan possessed more than the Sighing Staff. The staves in his pack weren’t as good, so he left them unused.

Nanyang Sheng quickly drew another great sword.

A small fireball struck near him, bursting a small pit at his feet. “Are you nearsighted?”

As he spoke, three more fireballs shot out—not at Nanyang Sheng, but at the ground.

What was happening?

Nanyang Sheng doubted Zhao Nan’s aim was so poor, but the spells seemed chaotic, like a child angrily throwing things at random.

Soon, Nanyang Sheng understood Zhao Nan’s purpose—he used fireballs to melt his own ice crystal walls, then kept casting whirlwinds, mixing sand and vapor until the surroundings became murky and unclear.

“Let me tell you one more thing: anti-magic abilities aren’t omnipotent. At the very least… pure air currents aren’t affected by anti-magic, right?”

As the words faded, a colossal flaming dragon’s head crashed beside Nanyang Sheng, its explosive force unsettling him.

Amid dense steam and dust, wind blades spun and flew; his sword cleaved one, but missed another.

“And besides, no matter how powerful anti-magic is, if you can’t hit, you have to take the blow.”

Damn…

Obstructed vision, attacks from nowhere, relentless assaults—Nanyang Sheng was furious. Without healing potions, he’d be worn down soon. The ground was riddled with pits; dodging unknown attacks was impossible, and even with anti-magic, Nanyang Sheng felt the frustration that once plagued the “Blood Shadow” group.

Suddenly, the ground softened—a patch of mud sucked him down. He swung his sword to break the trap, but vines coiled around him again.

“Impossible! This skill’s cooldown—”

A great sword, one he had used for ages and polished often, appeared above his head and crashed down.

Like smashing a watermelon, the fruit burst and red pulp splattered.

Zhao Nan’s hands trembled; wielding the great sword was difficult—his strength was lacking. Still, swinging it a few times was manageable.

Though he could have worn his foe down, crushing him was swifter.

“Predator Spider Silk can’t be pulled apart, but it can still be cut… Foolish, isn’t it?”