Chapter 028: A Gamble Between Life and Death

The giant python was occasionally struck by Mu Tianhen's sword. Although the blows did it no real harm, they were a grave affront to its pride. Beasts were born with an innate arrogance, believing humans to be insignificant and frail, while they themselves were the true lords of noble blood. When encountering humans, they looked upon them with disdain and would not even deign to eat them, lest their bloodlines be polluted. Of course, if a human dared provoke them, they would crush them without hesitation.

This arrogance was even more pronounced among the more intelligent ferocious beasts. The python before him was a prime example; it looked down on Mu Tianhen from the depths of its heart. Yet the very person it scorned, this weakling unworthy of its notice, kept slashing at it with a sword, and what was more, every strike found its mark. How could it not be enraged?

Thus, its assault grew only fiercer, leaving the area in chaos, with only the tiny patch where the Blood Spirit Grass grew left untouched. The python had no inkling that humans could awaken a myriad of bloodlines, becoming even mightier than the beasts, and, with their superior intellect, were the true masters of heaven and earth.

Mu Tianhen’s deliberate goading of the python was proof of this. His actions were not solely to anger the beast, but also to buy himself time—to observe it, to seek out its weakness.

There is a saying: “A dragon has its reverse scale; touch it and you die.” Yet there is a second half to this phrase, known to few: “Lift the reverse scale, and the dragon’s life is forfeit.” In other words, the reverse scale is the dragon’s fatal weakness—it guards it jealously, and whoever dares touch it must die. But should that scale be truly lifted, it spells the dragon’s end.

Therefore, while dodging, Mu Tianhen observed closely, searching for the python’s fatal weakness. Perhaps it, too, had a reverse scale. As long as he could find that place, he could take its life in a single strike.

Suddenly, Mu Tianhen’s eyes lit upon an unusual spot, precisely at the python’s seventh inch. There, a peculiar scale, paler than the rest, could barely be discerned unless one looked very closely.

Upon seeing that scale, Mu Tianhen’s heart leapt. He knew it to be the python’s reverse scale—its fatal weakness. One strike there would end the battle. Yet he was in no hurry to approach, lest he draw the python’s attention and lose his only chance. So he continued to employ his “A Step Through Ages” footwork, weaving and dodging, slashing here and there, never letting the python suspect a thing.

Meanwhile, Mu Tianhen drew ever nearer to the python’s seventh inch, and closer still to its gaping maw, which only made the python secretly rejoice. Little did it know, death was steadily drawing closer with every step.

Silently, Mu Tianhen gathered every last trace of his meridian power, channeling it into his black iron longsword, suppressing even the sword’s glimmer so as not to reveal his intent. He was coiling his strength, waiting for the perfect opportunity—he had to kill in one blow. This final gamble was a dance with death: once the sword moved, it would be either the python’s death or his own.

At last, the perfect moment arrived. Mu Tianhen deliberately slowed his movements, letting the python see his true position. The python seized the chance, rearing its head and lunging with its maw wide open.

“Heaven-Piercing!”

At that instant, Mu Tianhen shouted, merging with his sword, and shot upward, aiming directly for that scale.

A flash—a cold, blazing streak—sword and man soared at incredible speed, reaching the target in an instant. The python sensed death closing in, frantically twisting to evade, but it was already too late. Its downward strike was swift, but the sword’s ascent was swifter still. At such close range, so sudden a change, how could it hope to react in time?

Thus, the black iron longsword whistled through the air and pierced the scale.

A squelch—the blade embedded itself, sending a mist of blood spraying through the air.

Looking closely, one could see the sword had sunk completely into the python’s seventh inch, leaving only the hilt exposed, with torrents of blood spurting out along its length.

A guttural roar shook the air—the python, wracked with pain, felt its life ebbing away, saw death looming before it. No longer did it heed the Blood Spirit Grass; its massive body thrashed in a frenzy, battering the earth.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Each strike made the ground tremble, sending dust and petals swirling skyward. Fortunately, Mu Tianhen had prepared for this. The moment the sword pierced the python’s weakness, he let go instantly, using his footwork to leap to where the Blood Spirit Grass grew. With his dagger, he circled the grass, scooping up the entire plant with its soil, then darted twenty yards away to avoid the python’s death throes.

Now, Mu Tianhen was trembling all over, sweat streaming down his pale face; his lips were drained of color, and he looked as if he could collapse at any moment.

In such a state, even an ordinary beast could kill him, let alone a ferocious one. Just now, to ensure he could slay the python in one strike, he had used the “Heaven-Piercing Sword”—a technique he had not yet mastered—draining all his meridian power in an instant. Were it not for his iron will, he would not have even managed to gather the Blood Spirit Grass.

Fortunately, he had accomplished everything as planned—narrowly, but safely. The exhaustion of his power was worth it.

The python, in the distance, howled and writhed, turning the area into a wasteland, the earth stained red with its blood. As time passed, its cries grew weaker and less frequent, until at last they ceased altogether. Its massive body crashed heavily to the ground.

Boom!

When the python fell, it sent another wave of dust and debris swirling through the air. Then, all was still again—quieter than before the battle had begun. The small animals nearby cowered, huddled motionless, barely daring to breathe.

Even seeing the python fall, none dared move. After all, a human martial artist still stood there—a human more terrifying than the python itself!

“Let me down, quickly!”

At this moment, Little White cried out from the tree, urging its companions to lower it, and then hurriedly ran toward Mu Tianhen, gathering some healing herbs along the way.

From a distance, Little White called out, “Master! Master, are you all right?”

Hearing the voice, Mu Tianhen slowly turned, forcing a faint smile to show he was unharmed. But even this slight smile drained the last of his strength—his vision went black, his consciousness slipped away, and he fell straight to the ground.

“Master…”

Those were the last words Mu Tianhen heard before fainting, after which he knew nothing of the world.

No one knew how much time passed before he felt a tickling sensation on his face, slowly bringing him back to consciousness. Gradually, he opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was Little White’s small head, anxious eyes brimming with tears, and a tiny paw gently stroking his cheek.