CHAPTER 639: BACK UP

Han Xin dropped to his knees beside the village elder, snow crunching beneath him. The old man had rolled across the ground, his robes torn, his body bruised and bleeding. He gently turned him over, lifting him into a sitting position with careful hands.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked, voice low but urgent.

The elder coughed, blood staining his lips and teeth. His breath came in shallow bursts. With trembling fingers, he pointed toward the shattered shrine, where the lantern lay extinguished in the snow.

Han Xin’s gaze followed, and he instantly understood. That shrine was more important to that old man that his life.

Years ago, he had protected this village from a demon incursion. Since then, the villagers had offered incense and prayers in his name. The divine offerings that, though humble, had sustained him. It was those offerings that had healed him when he was found unconscious in the snow. It was why he still had strength, even without divine power. This was why he probably ended up here after being banished.

"Forget the lantern," Han Xin said, gripping the elder’s shoulder. "You need a physician."

But the ground trembled.

The demon that had destroyed the shrine was charging toward them, its steps cracking the frozen earth. Han Xin turned sharply, his eyes blazing with fury. The demon faltered, sensing something in that glare, something dangerous and majestic. But when it felt that this person had no ounce of cultivation, it lunged forward.

Han Xin’s body tensed and the snow swirled around him like a storm preparing to break. He rose with a fluid motion, the axe in his hand gleaming under the pale winter light. His posture was regal, his presence commanding like a divine being shackled in mortal flesh. The demon lunged, shrieking with hollow rage, but Han Xin’s response was swift and merciless. He swung the axe in a wide arc, the blade singing through the air before cleaving clean through the demon’s neck.

Its head tumbled to the ground, eyes still glowing faintly before dimming into nothing.

Han Xin exhaled slowly, his breath curling in the cold. He moved with grace, wiping the blood from the blade in a single elegant motion. His stance, his footwork, everything spoke of a man trained in swordplay, now wielding an axe out of necessity. The other demons shrieked in fury and charged.

The village elder, still crumpled on the ground, narrowed his eyes. There was something hauntingly familiar in Han Xin’s movements. He was precise, powerful, almost sacred. He remembered that day long ago, when the nameless immortal had saved them. He had never seen that immortal’s face, only the silhouette against the storm.

And now, watching Han Xin, he saw echoes of that figure. If not for the difference in hair color... if not for the absence of divine aura... he might have believed the immortal had returned.

Han Xin stood amidst the swirling snow, axe in hand, his breath steady despite the chaos. Five demons encircled him, their twisted forms screeching with rage. He moved like a phantom, graceful, mesmerizing. His black hair whipped through the air, elegant yet violent, a banner of defiance against the cold-born horrors. They lunged foward with such ferocity that could scare anyone to death.

Han Xin dodged with fluid precision, his body bending and twisting like water. The axe sang through the air, cleaving through limbs and torsos with brutal elegance. One demon fell, then another, until all five lay broken in the snow, their cursed frost melting into ash.

Then came the high-ranking one. It loomed, breath steaming, hollow frost eyes gleaming with cruel intelligence. It rushed forward, gliding over the snow like a shadow. Its ice blade swung wide, and shards, sharp as darts, exploded toward Han Xin.

He leapt into a perfect backflip, the shards slicing through the space where he’d stood. He landed softly, his knees bent and his axe ready.

But he was suddenly feeling exhaustion creeping in. To him it was a foreign sensation. His power, once infinite, now flickered like a dying flame. He couldn’t rely on brute strength anymore.

Han Xin narrowed his eyes, calculating. If he was to survive this, he would have to fight smart. Every move would need to count. Every breath, every step measured and deliberate.

The high-ranking one was taller than the rest, its body sculpted from ice and hatred, its hollow eyes glowing with cruel frost. Steam poured from its mouth in thick clouds as it charged, the snow crunching beneath its feet like cracking bones.

Han Xin braced himself, muscles taut, eyes locked. The demon swung its jagged ice blade, and shards flew like darts towards him.

Now instead of one, there were two high-ranking demons circling him like vultures one cloaked in obsidian ice, its body pulsing, the other was armored in jagged frost, its limbs glistening with shards of ice that pulsed with malevolence.

Their snarls echoed through the vale, each breath a curse, each step a promise of ruin.

Han Xin’s axe trembled in his grip not from fear, but from the creeping exhaustion that gnawed at now useless divine core. He spun, deflecting a blow with a shriek of metal and ice as the frost demon’s blade clashed against his own. Sparks and shards flew. The second demon lunged from behind Han Xin twisted, narrowly avoiding the strike, but his knees hit the snow. They closed onto him the situation against Han Xin.

Suddenly, the sky cracked and a rare spiritial bird, the Veyrasha descended in a spiral of mist and light, its wings slicing the wind like blades of memory. Its feathers shimmered white and blue, trailing frostfire that danced across the battlefield, igniting the snow in ethereal flame.

Han Xin rose, the light of the Veyrasha casting his silhouette in divine brilliance. He moved with renewed grace, his axe carving through the air like a comet. Ice darts shattered against his blade.

The frost demon swung, Han Xin ducked, pivoted, and struck, cleaving through armor and shadow. Not a hair on his head was touched.