Chapter Eighty-Seven: The Mountain Blade—Ninefold Heaven

“As expected…” Finally managing to steady the blade in his hand, Zhou Yi’s expression remained unchanged, but inside, he was filled with excitement. The tangible sensation in his grip—impact, eruption, power—coursed through him with overwhelming fullness.

To hold power in one’s hand—whether a pound or ten, ten or a hundred—the feeling is utterly different! In the same way, lifting a hundred pounds, or a thousand, evokes another sensation entirely. Now, Zhou Yi felt as though he were lifting a mountain.

Just the sheer weight, the density in his grasp, was enough to crush any negative emotion in his heart, for this was power, the kind that could sweep away all obstacles.

With both hands—his left gripping the Ninth Map of the World, his right holding the long blade—Zhou Yi slowly drew them together. Sweat poured from his body, his gaze unwavering, clearly revealing that what he was doing was far from easy.

Mo Hu watched Zhou Yi, his eyes following the fresh beads of perspiration that constantly appeared on Zhou Yi’s brow. His fingers tensed around the wooden sword lying quietly in his palm, a stirring rising in his heart.

“This is an opportunity!” Zhou Yi’s strenuous movements rekindled a spark of hope in Mo Hu’s spirit, which had all but died. His eyes narrowed, a glint of ferocity flashing within them. “While he’s in this predicament, I must seize the moment!”

The thought took root as soon as it surfaced, spreading like wild grass, quickly overrunning Mo Hu’s mind.

“To act or not to act!”

In truth, the question need never have arisen. The moment Mo Hu conceived the thought, the answer had already been decided—there was only one.

“Do it!”

He drew a deep breath, tightened his grip on the sword, and focused his will. The inner energy that, in his despair, had begun dissipating from the wooden sword, now halted its retreat.

“Only half remains…” He probed the sword with his mind and sighed inwardly, clutching it tighter.

His own strength was only enough to wield the wooden sword once. Earlier, Zhou Yi’s performance had utterly extinguished his hope—such a vast gulf of ability, with no chance of victory in sight.

Each new astonishment had brought a fresh blow, hammering his confidence to rock bottom. In the end, Mo Hu had even lost the will to fight.

Thus, the wooden sword, sensing his despair, reverted from a battle-ready state to its dormant form. The inner energy he had infused into it gradually dissipated.

Now, though not much time had passed, nearly half his energy had faded, leaving the sword with only half its original strength.

Though only half his energy remained, the sword’s power was not simply halved.

“The power is down to just a third…” He communed with the sword, sensing its diminished force, and drew his conclusion.

“Still, it should suffice.” His gaze fixed once more on Zhou Yi and the sweat streaming from him, Mo Hu’s face was expressionless.

This, after all, was an ambush—taking advantage of another’s vulnerability. If not for Zhou Yi’s current state, even at full power, Mo Hu would never have dared attack.

Yet now, Zhou Yi appeared to be at a critical juncture, trapped in difficulty, as the sweat pouring from him made clear.

In this state, the most important thing was to interrupt him—break his concentration, and he would inevitably suffer backlash from his own power. Even if it didn’t kill him, cleaning up afterward would be simple.

So, the sword’s power was no longer the key. What mattered was whether he could interrupt Zhou Yi’s actions.

Mo Hu had lost faith in his own strength. Even if the wooden sword’s power defied the heavens, he no longer believed in himself.

To this moment, he still had no grasp of Zhou Yi’s true ability—it was impossible to judge by appearances. Zhou Yi wore a mask of flawless craftsmanship, deceiving everyone.

Including Mo Hu himself.

But though he had no faith in himself, he had full confidence in Zhou Yi’s strength.

Mo Hu could not harm Zhou Yi—but Zhou Yi could harm himself!

No matter how formidable Zhou Yi’s skill, under the weight of backlash he would, in effect, be battling himself. Against that, no strength suffices.

Now, with the arrow nocked, Mo Hu had no choice but to act. If he hesitated and Zhou Yi regained his strength, his own death was assured.

Could Zhou Yi possibly spare those who had come to take his life?

To not attack was to die. But if he attacked, there was still a chance to live.

Whoosh!

In an instant, as countless thoughts spun through his mind, Mo Hu acted. Having halted the dissipation of energy from the wooden sword, he seized control with his will. In a flash, he vanished from his place, propelled by the sword.

Bang!

In that split second, Mo Hu disappeared, the sword tearing through the air, and reappeared before Zhou Yi. The sword led, Mo Hu followed, the tip aimed straight at Zhou Yi's forehead.

“Die!” Mo Hu’s chilling voice cut through the air, the sword radiating lethal intent as it sped toward Zhou Yi’s brow, determined to pierce his skull in a single, fatal strike.

The sword moved with blinding speed, the air offering no resistance; in the blink of an eye, it was poised at the center of Zhou Yi’s forehead. Zhou Yi could feel the chill of its wooden blade.

Faced with this sudden attack, Zhou Yi’s expression did not flicker; he didn’t even blink, nor spare a glance. He remained bent over, intent on merging the Ninth Map of the World with the long blade, as if Mo Hu’s unstoppable assault simply did not exist.

Zhou Yi’s lack of reaction did not enrage Mo Hu or make him feel slighted; instead, a surge of delight rose within him. His confidence had been flagging, but Zhou Yi’s actions now gave him a sudden boost.

Bang!

But before he could savor his triumph, a tremendous force erupted before him. The wooden sword halted in midair, unable to advance another inch.

Mo Hu’s twisted expression froze. He stared, stunned, at the sword, suspended less than the width of a pinky from Zhou Yi’s forehead—so close to his goal, yet no matter how hard he tried, it would not move closer.

“It’s done!” At that moment, Zhou Yi shouted, clapping his hands together. Blade and map became one, and instantly a mighty wave of energy burst from the blade, sweeping outward in all directions.

Boom!

Without resistance, Mo Hu, his face numb with resignation, was flung back by the expanding wave. The once-mighty wooden sword was tossed aside like a mere toy, instantly severed from his control.

“I knew it…” In midair, Mo Hu wept silently in his heart.