CHAPTER 258: HAN YU’S INTERVENTION

Meng fought with a grace and fury that reminded Han Yu of their last encounter. Her sword danced through the fog, cutting down one disciple within the first minute. Her illusions flared, and her defensive footwork was impeccable. But the enemy wasn’t ordinary.

Among them, a tall woman with fiery red eyes unleashed dual chakrams of spiritual steel—whirling weapons that slashed through trees and illusions alike. She was strong. Probably on the same level as Meng.

The fight dragged on.

Minutes passed. Trees fell. The ground was scorched. Blood sprayed in short bursts through the mist.

Meng was bleeding from her shoulder, her robes torn. One leg dragged slightly behind her. Yet her eyes remained blazing with defiance.

"You’ll regret this," she spat, blocking a vicious downward strike with her forearm guard. "The sect will know what you’ve done."

"The sect already knows," the red-eyed woman said with a smirk. "That’s the problem."

Han Yu clenched his jaw from where he crouched.

The more he listened, the less sense it made—and the more intrigued he became.

’The skeleton of the Magma Ancestor? Forbidden runes? Secret meetings with robed elders?’

This wasn’t just an internal dispute.

This was something big.

And Meng, for all her flaws and her past ambushes, was standing her ground.

Han Yu felt a strange pressure in his chest. It wasn’t sympathy, exactly... but it wasn’t mockery either. He didn’t owe her anything. But something about the scene—her defiance, her injuries, the cruelty in her attackers—twisted a thread of emotion in his gut.

He didn’t move.

Not yet.

But his hand slowly reached for the haft of his glaive, fingers curling around it in silence.

Unspoken thoughts raced through his mind.

Perhaps he should let her die.

But perhaps... there was more to gain by keeping her alive.

Han Yu crouched low in the underbrush, his breath calm and quiet, his eyes locked onto the scene unfolding before him.

Senior Sister Meng stood surrounded, injured and panting. Blood ran down her arm, soaking her sleeve, and her breathing was ragged. Her sword shook slightly in her hand, the toll of the prolonged battle beginning to show. Still, her eyes remained defiant, burning with the same conviction she had shown when refusing to hand over the information.

The remaining Mist Eye Sect disciples, now reduced to five, circled her like wolves. The red-eyed woman barked an order, and one of the weaker male disciples—young, thin, and with a cruel smirk—stepped forward eagerly.

"Heh... let me soften her up," he sneered. "I’ve always wanted to see what makes Senior Sister scream."

Meng’s face darkened. She clenched her jaw, raising her sword again despite her trembling limbs.

The disciple laughed, walking slowly toward her with a short blade glinting under the moonlight. He licked his lips.

"Don’t worry, I won’t cut too deep. We need you alive for now."

As he drew closer, raising the blade to strike her arm, he suddenly froze.

Literally.

His body locked mid-motion, eyes widening in shock. The dagger hovered mere inches from Meng’s skin.

"What the—?"

That was as far as he got.

Meng’s instincts flared. She didn’t hesitate. With a twist of her torso and a sharp stab, her blade pierced directly into his heart.

He gurgled and collapsed without a sound.

The forest went still for a beat.

Then chaos erupted again.

"What the hell?!"

Two more disciples surged toward her, their weapons drawn in fury. But just as they neared, both suddenly jerked—eyes blanking as if struck by something invisible. Their steps faltered, blades pausing mid-swing.

Meng didn’t understand it, but she didn’t waste the opportunity.

With ruthless precision, she twisted and slashed. Two more bodies hit the ground.

She stood alone in a circle of corpses, heaving for breath. Her eyes flicked around, narrowed in confusion.

’What’s going on?’ she thought. ’Why... why did they freeze just before striking? They were faster than that. It’s like... something stunned them.’

The remaining three enemies—one of whom was the red-eyed woman—stood tense and alarmed.

"This doesn’t make sense," one of them muttered. "She’s strong, but not this strong. How did she—?"

"She must’ve learned some kind of higher-level illusory technique," another whispered. "Something the rest of us don’t know."

"That’s impossible," the red-eyed woman snapped. "The Locking Eye skill doesn’t work on fellow sect disciples. We’re all trained to resist it."

"Then what the hell is this?!"

Before they could act again, one of the remaining disciples lunged toward Meng in a reckless charge. She raised her sword, blocking the first blow, but she was too weakened to counter effectively.

That’s when a second figure appeared.

Silent. Swift.

A gleam of cold steel flashed in the night as a glaive pierced clean through the disciple’s back.

Blood sprayed in a crimson arc. The man dropped without a sound.

Meng spun in shock, only to see a cloaked figure step out of the shadows—his face mostly covered, only his eyes visible under the hood. Even those were partially shaded.

He said nothing.

The red-eyed woman froze in place, her crimson gaze darting between the masked stranger and Meng.

"You—who the hell are you?!"

Meng, eyes wide, echoed the question. "Who...?"

But the cloaked figure didn’t answer. He simply moved again—swift, elegant, and eerily precise.

The red-eyed woman leapt backward, trying to create distance.

Too slow.

Han Yu’s finger struck the base of her neck, pressing sharply into the meridian beside the spine.

Soul Stinging Finger!

She collapsed immediately, her body twitching as paralysis overtook her limbs. Her eyes flickered in disbelief.

Meng stared in astonishment.

The masked figure turned to her, voice low and hoarse, clearly disguised.

"Stay alert."

His tone was calm, unhurried.

Meng’s sword lowered slightly as she looked at the fallen woman, then at the figure who moved without sound or hesitation. She had seen powerful cultivators before—but not one who could so effortlessly disable a Senior Disciple at her level.

"How did you...?"

The cloaked man didn’t answer.

Instead, he knelt beside the red-eyed woman and tapped several more meridian points along her arms, collar, hips, and ankles. Her spasms stopped. She was frozen solid.

Meng gaped. "That... that’s..."

"Meridian Restricting Finger Skill," the man said in his rasping tone.