Little Black Strikes

Not bad defense, she murmured, acknowledging the excessive defensive capability, and the long sword in her hand suddenly surged with force, attempting to break through the protective barrier with a single point of impact.

Chen Guan knew this couldn’t go on. He could endure it with the defense’s resilience, but continuing like this wouldn’t just fail to get Guan Jinyue away—it would also reveal too much of his strength.

Gripping the iron hammer, he stood on the warped floor of the carriage. Behind his mask, his eyes locked with Guan Jinyue’s gaze.

It was this moment.

In the instant their pupils met, Chen Guan’s mental energy threaded through, like an incredibly fine line, slipping along the optic nerve into her perceptive layer.

Illusion.

Guan Jinyue’s pupils dilated briefly, then refocused.

In her vision, He Chenguan still stood in the same spot, the hammer in his right hand, his posture identical to moments before.

But the real Chen Guan had already shifted two steps to the left, back pressed against the remnants of the carriage’s iron wall, his breathing as shallow as possible.

Guan Jinyue moved.

When the sword strike came down, Chen Guan could see it clearly. That slash landed precisely where he had stood three seconds earlier, and the carriage floor was instantly split open with a gaping crack.

Without the illusion, even with defense, that sword would have peeled off a layer of his skin.

Guan Jinyue withdrew her sword, staring at the phantom in front of her, her brow furrowed slightly.

Your defense is stronger than I anticipated, she said, talking to the air.

Chen Guan didn’t respond. He couldn’t speak. Maintaining the illusion meant avoiding any extra sensory interference; once he opened his mouth, the discrepancy between the real sound source and the phantom would clue Guan Jinyue in instantly.

Guan Jinyue struck again.

This blow was heavier than the last. The sword’s energy pierced through the carriage floor and blasted a pit into the ground, sending stones and iron shards flying, clattering against the enclosing wall.

In the illusion, He Chenguan was knocked flying by this attack, tumbled twice across the road, then staggered back to his feet.

This was the illusion’s built-in feedback mechanism. It simulated the target’s behavioral patterns based on the caster’s preset. Chen Guan’s preset template was He Chenguan’s character: take a beating, get up again, and then keep charging headfirst.

Guan Jinyue watched the resurrected phantom and, for once, made another attempt to reason with it: The Flood Dragon Demon Core isn’t worth your life.

The phantom didn’t answer. Chen Guan hadn’t programmed it with conversation functions.

Guan Jinyue raised her right hand, palm facing forward, and ripples in space spread from her fingertips.

Chen Guan’s eyelid twitched.

He had seen this gesture before. Those who had vanished without a trace had all died this way.

The phantom was caught by the spatial force, its body gripped as if by an invisible hand, slowly sinking as the ground beneath it began to crack.

Guan Jinyue was seriously fighting someone who didn’t exist.

Taking advantage of this opening, Chen Guan soundlessly slipped out through a gap in the carriage. Baobao followed him, all four paws landing without a whisper, its violet eyes flashing in the darkness.

He skulked back along the wall’s shadow, the iron hammer still in his hand, the iron box still in his inner pocket, and the defense layer still active.

The illusion could hold for about fifteen more seconds.

Fifteen seconds later, Guan Jinyue would realize something was wrong. With her perception range, Chen Guan would have at most five more seconds to react.

Twenty seconds. That was his time.

Just as Chen Guan made this estimate, his peripheral vision caught something that shouldn’t have been there.

A small, pitch-black figure stood silently less than a meter to his right.

Chen Guan’s steps faltered.

He hadn’t sensed it approaching. Not because of its speed, but because it entirely lacked any ripples of presence, like a rock that had suddenly grown legs.

The little black figure tilted its head and waved at him.

Chen Guan stared at it for two seconds, his mind racing.

White Tiger said he’d send someone.

This black little thing was his “someone”?

The figure waved again, more vigorously this time, as if urging him to hurry.

Chen Guan didn’t hesitate. He followed the little black figure, hugging the wall deeper into the alley.

Baobao trailed behind, its violet eyes fixed on the small black silhouette, its tail involuntarily tucking between its legs.

It could sense that this palm-sized creature carried an aura that instinctively made it want to bow.

How many times was this?!

What kind of people did its owner keep getting tangled up with?!

Life was hard. Baobao sighed.

Let me introduce myself. I’m Beidou. We’ve met before.

The little black figure, Beidou, started speaking in human language. He glanced at Guan Jinyue, who was still fighting the empty air, and said, Leave now. From today onward, everything about He Chenguan will be handled by me. You don’t need to worry.

With that, the originally featureless little black figure began to develop facial features, clothing, aura, even the battered hammer in its hands—everything identical to what Chen Guan held.

Chen Guan looked down at Beidou.

This little black figure was no longer just black. His facial features gradually became clear under the moonlight, even replicating the texture of skin and the natural lines of pores.

The aura, too, was identical.

Third-rank, almost fourth-rank, summon-type, bonded to a third-rank mutated leopard.

Wait—but where did that identical leopard come from?!

If Chen Guan hadn’t watched him change with his own eyes, he would have thought he was looking in a mirror.

You copied the hammer too, Chen Guan said.

This hammer doesn’t take much skill to make. But your taste surprises me, Beidou replied, his voice now exactly He Chenguan’s.

Chen Guan had no time to debate aesthetics. The illusion had less than ten seconds left.

Farewell.

With a curt fist salute, Chen Guan tossed the box to Beidou and sprinted off.

Now wasn’t the time to analyze Beidou’s abilities. Getting clear of this mess as fast as possible was all that mattered.

On the other side, Beidou stepped into Chen Guan’s place.

There was one complication… Beidou assessed the power within him. His ability was a Life-type ability—All Faces of Life.

What appeared here wasn’t his main body, just a split-off avatar. The avatar was one of the most basic functions of his ability.

The avatar’s power wasn’t determined by his real self; it worked based on what others believed its power to be. Which was exactly why Chen Guan had sought him out in the first place.

Beidou stood at the edge of the wall, watching Chen Guan’s silhouette vanish into the alley’s far end.

That young man could run fast, without a trace of hesitation. The leopard he’d picked up was equally quick, its purple tail whisking out of sight.

Good. His retreat instincts were even better than Beidou had expected.

Beidou glanced down at his own hand. The weight of the iron hammer pressed into his palm, the rough anti-slip leather against his skin feeling just like the real thing.