Wandering Swordsman |

Shen Mo immediately closed his eyes to minimize the harm his gaze would cause to the woman on the bed, and then tried to calm the turmoil in his heart.

He knew the scene before him was beyond his imagination. To protect this innocent girl, he had to end the battle as soon as possible and take her away from this terrifying place.

Taking a deep breath, Shen Mo stepped back out of the room. Seeing this, the middle-aged man immediately chased after him, still gripping his broadsword tightly, his eyes filled with boundless killing intent. "Where do you think you can escape to?" he said coldly, his voice full of threat.

Shen Mo did not respond, but quickly led the middle-aged man to the courtyard outside. The moonlight was now even brighter, illuminating the blood-soaked battlefield. The middle-aged man, after chasing after them, saw his fallen comrade and felt a chill run down his spine, but quickly regained his composure.

"Kid, do you know who we are? If you dare mess with us, I'll make sure you die a horrible death!" The middle-aged man's voice was deep and threatening, as if every word carried a chilling coldness.

Shen Mo's face appeared remarkably calm, but a cold glint flashed in his deep eyes. In the courtyard under the night sky, the plants swayed gently in the breeze, seemingly sensing the approaching storm.

"I don't know who you are, and I don't care who you are," Shen Mo's voice was low and steady. "In my eyes, you're nothing more than a bunch of damned people."

Upon hearing this, the middle-aged man let out a wild laugh that echoed through the blood-soaked courtyard. "Kid, don't think you can defeat me just because you've taken down these good-for-nothings. My strength is far superior to theirs," the man said arrogantly, his tone filled with contempt and confidence.

Shen Mo's gaze suddenly turned serious, as calm as a frozen lake. "How will you know if you don't try?"

Before he finished speaking, his figure had already transformed into a bolt of lightning, rushing towards his opponent. Amidst the flashing blades and clashing swords, the two figures intertwined, and for a moment, it was impossible to determine a winner.

However, as the battle continued, Shen Mo gradually felt the strain. Although he had used the internal energy cultivation techniques from the *Wu Xiang Jing*, they seemed somewhat inadequate against his opponent's unpredictable movements; his longsword, though sharp, was significantly less powerful in his hands than the *Tian Gang Sword Technique*. This caused Shen Mo to retreat steadily, gradually being forced into a corner, as if the surrounding air was being oppressed by the enemy's aura, almost suffocating him.

'This guy is really skilled,' Shen Mo thought to himself. 'He's nowhere near as good as those men in black from before. If I had a sword, I might have a chance of winning. Uh, wait, a sword...'

Thinking of this, a flash of inspiration struck Shen Mo. He suddenly remembered something, so he immediately changed tactics, using his speed advantage to escape the temporary predicament and quickly ran into the house.

The room was simply furnished. His gaze swept quickly across the room, finally settling on an ancient longsword on the wall—the very thing that had just flashed through his mind.

Without the slightest hesitation, Shen Mo darted forward and swiftly drew the sword.

At this moment, the middle-aged man also arrived at the door.

Seeing this, to avoid causing unnecessary fright or misunderstanding to the woman inside, Shen Mo immediately threw the knife in his hand at the burning candle on the bedside table. In an instant, the flame was extinguished by the knife, plunging the entire room into darkness.

In the darkness, Shen Mo's voice was calm and firm: "Miss, please wait a moment longer. I will come back to rescue you as soon as I subdue this person."

Having said that, Shen Mo gripped his sword tightly, all his senses becoming sharper. Despite the complete darkness before him, he relied on his memory of spatial orientation and the moonlight streaming in through the doorway to slowly walk towards it. Each step he took felt like he was treading on the edge of time, light yet firm, as if he had become one with the night.

Seeing this, the middle-aged man at the door sneered, "Kid, do you think you can beat me like this?" Before he finished speaking, he felt a sharp aura approaching from the darkness.

Suddenly, the middle-aged man appeared before Shen Mo like a ghost, brandishing his knife straight for Shen Mo's throat. Shen Mo remained calm and dodged the fatal blow.

Immediately afterwards, the two engaged in a fierce fight inside the house. The sound of their swords clashing was like thunder, particularly jarring in the silent night. Each collision sparked dazzling flashes, illuminating the beads of sweat on their faces and their resolute expressions.

Lying on the bed, the woman listened to the sounds of fighting around her and closed her eyes. Her heart was filled with fear, but even more so with prayer. She silently prayed that the gods would protect the young, unfamiliar swordsman and ensure his safety, helping him win this life-or-death battle.

As the battle intensified, Shen Mo gradually found his rhythm. His longsword danced, each move imbued with the essence of the Heavenly Gang Sword Technique, several times more ferocious than when he wielded his saber. The sword's shadow, like flowing light, pierced the darkness, each strike carrying decisive power. The middle-aged man felt the pressure increase dramatically and was forced to fight back with all his might against Shen Mo's onslaught.

"Hmph!" The middle-aged man gritted his teeth, attempting to suppress Shen Mo with an even fiercer attack, but Shen Mo seemed to have already anticipated his intentions. Shen Mo sidestepped the attack, skillfully avoiding it, and simultaneously thrust his sword at his opponent's vulnerable spot. The sword strike was as swift as lightning, hitting its target with unerring accuracy.

Not long after, accompanied by a heart-wrenching scream, this thrilling duel finally came to an end. Shen Mo's sword pierced through the middle-aged man's chest, and blood flowed down the blade, staining Shen Mo's clothes red. He did not immediately pull out his sword, but stared intently at the person in front of him, his eyes revealing an unwavering determination.

A flicker of disbelief crossed the middle-aged man's face, followed by unbearable agony. He knelt on the ground, clutching his chest with both hands, trying to stop the bleeding, but the crimson fountain of life continued to gush forth. His breathing became rapid and weak, and his voice trembled with pain: "Cough, cough, who are you...?"

Shen Mo drew his sword, its blood-stained blade gleaming coldly in the moonlight, like a chilling lightning bolt in the night. He placed the sword against the middle-aged man's neck, the sharp blade pressed against his skin, almost able to feel the man's pulse.

The air seemed to freeze, with only a cold breeze gently brushing against the windowpane, bringing a chill. The room was eerily quiet, broken only by the rapid breathing of the two people. Shen Mo's hands were as steady as a rock, without the slightest tremor, but he was pondering how to deal with the potential chain reaction this enemy might bring.