Time ticked away, indifferent to anyone's will or entreaty for change.
Lann and Iwami Yixin, at this precise moment, truly felt how invincible a long-living being with an extended head start can arm themselves.
The talents of Eight Hundred Nuns are not exceptional at all, whether it's swordsmanship, light body skill, physical limits, or any other talents, she can be considered utterly ordinary.
Her swordsmanship is merely solid; even after hundreds of years of practice, she remains only at the level of 'solid'.
If it were the perfectly vigorous Iwami Yixin, with both only using blades to communicate, the withered old man would even dare to claim he could cut off her head in three minutes.
Her light body skill, at most, is on par with an owl, just because she doesn't need to hide like a ninja, so her wide monk's robes and kasaya can catch the air, making her jumps and landings even lighter and float farther.
Her body has absorbed enough origin water over the long years to grow to its current size and strength.
This undead, who is completely unremarkable in all aspects of talent, has armed herself over the long years, becoming this tricky figure today.
A sinister and sharp laugh came from all directions; it was the sound produced by the ink wash phantoms summoned by Eight Hundred Nuns through magic.
These phantoms would disappear like dissipating clouds and reappear elsewhere like thickening clouds.
They seemed to carry a light and floating ink painting quality, but when Yixin Iwami and Lann narrowly dodged the naginatas swung by these ink wash phantoms, they knew...
The blades of the phantoms were no different from real steel.
The attacks of these phantoms did not concern Iwami Yixin and Lann because both of them surpassed Eight Hundred Nuns in the art of the blade.
They could generally use the smallest movements, like a slight sidestep, to dodge the opponent's slashes.
What truly troubled them was that this magic made it impossible for the two to locate the opponent's true body.
They could only move around the bodies of the Immortal Peak Master and Old Robert, tangled together, to prevent the enemies from converging at one point.
This magic surely has a duration, for Lann observed that the styles of these ink wash phantoms were becoming increasingly scattered.
But the key problem is...time! It's still about time!
The Demon Hunter frowned, behind him, from Old Robert's body, the sound of iron armor and the flesh being torn and pulled by the limbs of the undying insects continuously resounded.
Old Robert was already dead, he never uttered a cry of pain or screamed miserably till his death, only a sigh of regret.
The opponent was now just desecrating his sensationless corpse.
This was the sole thing that comforted Lann at the moment.
Yet even as a corpse, Old Robert was reaching his limits.
The three undying insects, much fiercer than their peers, were about to shred this 'prison' of iron and flesh to pieces!
Hei Li still hadn't made it back.
Finally, the countdown Mentos had set at the corner of Lann's retina reached its end.
In Lann's ears, the centipedes dropped the remnants they held in their mouths and limbs.
The Immortal Peak Master was liberated.
The dried-up human 'pedestal' sighed, lamentingly chanting sutra.
He wished for death, to cease harming others, but even the ability to die was stripped from him by the undying insects.
The sound of chitinous shells scraping against the ground arose, and the spring-like centipede began moving its 'pedestal' again.
The two piercing sounds from behind prompted the Demon Hunter to suddenly turn around.
The gigantic sword in his hand slashed horizontally, splitting two undying insects and the upper body of the Immortal Peak Master, then tearing them into two halves with the force and inertia of the sword!
This sword wasn't meant for slashing; it was meant for smashing!
The Demon Hunter's blow flung the three pouncing undying insects away, but not a trace of ease was on his face.
Because the undying insects were immortal, and now, the situation had turned into a one-on-one.
In the Buddhist hall, the ink-like phantoms suddenly disappeared together; a gigantic blade of violet light shot out from the dispersing haze towards Lann's back!
The blade bore a spiraling Qi Flow Blade, like a rotating drill.
If this stabbed into Lann, not only a gash would appear; it's likely his entire waist and abdomen would be shredded by the Qi Flow Blade!
Just then, a foot in simple straw sandals stepped on the naginata blade coming down from above.
Even Eight Hundred Nuns found this risky move baffling. Official source is novel{f}ire.net
The blade, skewed by an external force, pierced into the ground, rolling up splinters and dirt, but causing no harm.
Such a manoeuver, slightly mishandled, could mean self-destruction; in young Iwami Yixin's eyes, it was a common response.
Young Iwami Yixin was ambitious, driven to act.
Moves that ordinary people wouldn't dare to imagine appeared to him as 'although missteps could lead to death, success could bring about an advantage'.
The gaunt, one-eyed old man panted and sweated, hair and beard disarrayed.
But at the corner of his mouth, a pleased and hearty smile unknowingly emerged.
Lann went to block the undead monster, allowing himself to stand before the Seat Master.
To stop the two enemies from converging, to destroy them overwhelmingly. However, the endurance of the opponent as an undead was dragging him to death.
And the blade that could turn the tide had yet to be delivered.
...It seemed to be a hopeless situation.
Yet Iwami Yixin couldn't suppress a sense of exhilaration.
Dying in such a battle didn't seem too bad.
"Lann, huff- can you still hold on?"
The old man asked the young man entangled with the undying insects over his shoulder.
The young man did not respond, but the gusty sound of the steel greatsword clashing with the monster carried no hesitation or retreat.
It was a sword of decisiveness and effectiveness.
Spurred by this delightful sound, Iwami Yixin felt his mood lift further.
"'Persevere to the end, and even if you're on the chopping block, remember to ask the executioner for a bowl of water; who knows what might happen while drinking,' I was once taught this when I was young, Lann. Now I pass these words to you."
The old man stood smiling before the towering Eight Hundred Nuns, yet in a rare move, he retracted the Golden Iron Dragon-Slaying Blade into its sheath, holding it upright before him.
His upright, withered frame slowly crouched down, lowering his center of gravity.
Meanwhile, the previously ferocious attacking stance of the Phantom Seat Master unconsciously shifted to a defensive posture, as if sensing a certain oppressive atmosphere.
"Enduring the battle between life and death, even if the pain makes you wish for death, endure to the end, or you won't even die in peace. That's my philosophy."
"You haven't looked at that [Heartless Style] scroll I gave you yet, have you? It's actually a bit hard to understand."
"Now's just the right time for me to show you..."
"My achievements in the [Heartless Style]!"
The sheathed samurai sword had already been raised to his face, blocking the ruined eye, leaving only a keen, single eye, peering over the hilt at his opponent.
Lann could feel that Iwami Yixin, to single-handedly hold back Eight Hundred Nuns while being physically exhausted... he was about to stake something.
Now, everyone was fighting for their lives.
Suddenly, a gentle breeze seemed to inexplicably rise in the entire Buddhist hall.
As if something was pulling massive amounts of air to converge.
The wood chips and dust on the ground began rolling in one direction, while the flames on the candelabras flickered the same way...
Suddenly, it was as if the world's volume dropped for a moment. The sounds of fire, floor creaks, and the screams of the undying insects all subdued.
Only the words from the elder's mouth remained distinctly audible.
"[Secret Technique]..."
The scabbard slightly parted, then fell silent.