My mom is waiting for treatment, and you're summoning me to be a hero?

In the Death Arena, the sounds of black swords clashing with lightsabers grew increasingly frequent.

Before the aftershocks of each sword clash could spread, the next sound had already followed.

The shockwaves that exploded in the dark space piled up layer by layer, shattering the ground of the Death Arena so badly that not a single stone slab remained intact.

Two killing domains lashed out wildly around the two of them.

The Pope's lightsaber cleaved through Lin Mo's horizontal slash and then thrust at his throat.

Lin Mo dodged to the side, the black sword slashing upwards, the blade grazing the Pope's chest and tearing the edge of his white robe.

The Pope took three steps back, his lightsaber drawing a defensive arc in front of him.

Lin Mo remained motionless, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"No, it shouldn't be."

The Pope spoke in a low voice, his confusion barely concealed.

Lin Mo shrugged: "I told you, I'm stronger than you think."

The Pope frowned. He readjusted his muscle density and bone strength, bringing his physical attributes to the level that Lin Mo had demonstrated in his previous sword strike.

Then he charged forward again, his lightsaber slashing at Lin Mo's right shoulder at an even faster speed than before.

when--!

The black sword steadily blocked the lightsaber.

The Pope clearly sensed that Lin Mo's power was stronger than before.

This is the twelfth time.

The Pope has regrouped twelve times during the battle.

Each time, he precisely replicated the strength, speed, and reaction speed that Lin Mo displayed onto himself.

But every time he thought he had finally caught up with Lin Mo's rhythm, Lin Mo's next sword strike would be half a fraction faster, half a fraction heavier, and half a fraction more precise than he had anticipated.

Not too much, not too little, just enough to overpower him.

It was as if a ruler, accurate to the millimeter, was suspended between the two of them; for every inch the Pope moved forward, the ruler moved back an inch.

He was always just a little bit short, and that little bit of distance never changed.

The Pope's expression grew increasingly grim.

He had been observing, correcting, and closing in during the battle, but Lin Mo was still pressing him.

What he found truly unacceptable was Lin Mo's expression.

A sense of composure always lingered on his face.

It wasn't a deliberately feigned composure, nor was it an arrogant underestimation of the enemy; rather, it was a serenity that emanated from the very core of one's being.

The black sword seemed like an extension of his body in his hand; each swing was precise and effortless, without any superfluous movements or signs of panic.

His breathing was as steady as a pendulum, and his gaze was as calm as if he were watching a martial arts match that had nothing to do with him.

The Pope was in turmoil.

While maintaining the rhythm of the counterattack, he frantically calculated in his mind.

His imagination can precisely replicate the observed data onto himself, but only if he knows the upper limit of the other person's data.

After fighting for so long, he still couldn't figure out Lin Mo's strength.

"This guy is definitely hiding a lot of strength."

The Pope gritted his teeth and thought.

The lightsaber and the black sword clashed again, and the recoil force traveled from his wrist to his shoulder. He could feel that Lin Mo's sword strike was slightly heavier than before.

Just how strong is he? He's probably stronger than most of the Demon Lords before him...

"No, I don't need to worry. No matter how strong he is, I can replicate his power—observe, replicate, surpass..."

What if he's even more powerful than a god...?

The Pope gritted his teeth and abruptly cut off the idea.

As for other methods, he couldn't imagine what could possibly harm Lin Mo, especially after personally experiencing Lin Mo's body.

His mind was in turmoil.

In that instant of distraction, Lin Mo's black sword seized the opportunity and struck the very center of the blade.

The lightsaber trembled violently, and the Pope was sent flying dozens of meters away before regaining his footing.

He raised his head and looked at Lin Mo again.

Lin Mo stood still, the black sword slung over his shoulder, waiting for him.

There was no pursuit, no attempt to suppress him; they simply stood there and waited for him to recover.

There was no impatience or smugness in those eyes, only a faint calm that sent chills down the Pope's spine.

It's like a hunter watching his prey banging its head against the wall in a cage.

"Take your time to adjust, there's no rush."

Lin Mo asked casually, as if he were asking what they were having for dinner.

He's still hiding.

The Pope stared at Lin Mo's still calm eyes, his mental calculations racing.

But Lin Mo was thinking about something else.

He has already used up nearly 20,000 free attribute points.

Every time the Pope adjusted his skills and caught up with him, he would add another thousand to two thousand points, no more and no less, just enough to surpass the Pope by one point.

"This can't go on."

With that thought in mind, Lin Mo decided to continue investing one thousand free attribute points.

But at that moment, a very faint yet very clear warm current suddenly surged into his body.

A power injected from the outside, bearing the imprint of some kind of law. This power was very subtle.

It was so light that he wouldn't even notice it if he wasn't fully focused on sensing his own body.

It has become part of his muscle fibers, his bone density, and his nerve endings.

Then his physical strength, agility, and mental strength all jumped up a little bit.

The increase wasn't significant, roughly equivalent to the effect of the two thousand points he had just planned to add.

Lin Mo was stunned for a moment.

Then a smile slowly crept onto his lips.

"They've finally arrived."

This power comes not from anyone; it comes from the Pope.

To be precise, it comes from the Pope's divine inspiration and imagination.

The reason Lin Mo maintained his composure from the start of the battle, always being just one step stronger than the Pope, without pursuing, crushing, or giving the Pope any chance to figure out his true limits, was to plant a false impression in the Pope's mind.

A false impression that "Lin Mo's strength is far superior to mine".

He wanted to make the Pope truly believe that he was superior to him.

Because he knew perfectly well that even if all 110,000 free attribute points were used up, the Pope could replicate the same level in the next second.

Free attribute points can only provide advantages, not determine the outcome of a match.

All he could do was gamble.

The Pope's abilities can also influence one's own.

Everything Lin Mo has done since the start of the battle has reinforced this belief.

So when the Pope kept repeating to himself, "He must be hiding a lot of strength," "Just how strong is he?" "He's probably already stronger than most of the previous demon kings."

His imagination unconsciously projected the "Lin Mo" in his mind onto the real Lin Mo.

In other words, from now on, Lin Mo no longer needs to use free attribute points.

Because the Pope will help him imagine it.

Every time the Pope thinks about "just how strong is Lin Mo", Lin Mo actually becomes stronger.

Every time the Pope adjusts his data in an attempt to catch up with Lin Mo, his imagination simultaneously pushes Lin Mo further away.

The Pope thought he was chasing Lin Mo.

In fact, he was pushing Lin Mo as he ran.

Lin Mo hoisted the black sword back onto his shoulder and used his senses to savor the power that was still slowly being injected, bearing the mark of the Pope's laws.

Although it is slight, it is indeed growing steadily.

As long as the Pope continues to imagine himself as powerful, this force will not cease.

He looked at the solemn-faced pope before him, and the smile on his lips deepened.

"What's wrong? You're not coming?"