Chapter 522: Chu Mo Island (Eighteenth)
Chapter 522: Chu Mo Island (Eighteenth)
Thump-thump-thump—
The Moon Step’s whistling pierced the air as a shadow darted at high speed through the swamp’s misty skies.
Feng Bu Jue had spent too much time conversing with Fu Ling, forcing him to accelerate his pace.
Relying on memory, he returned to the edge of the Taunting Forest and successfully located the footprints left by Fei Chai Shu and the others. Following these, he sprinted forward until reaching the swamp’s edge.
At this moment, there were still twenty-two minutes remaining to complete the main quest.
“Eh… what the heck is this?” As Feng Bu Jue approached the swamp, he spotted something strange on the stone path ahead—four black human-shaped stains.
“Don’t tell me…” Though the distance blurred details, an ominous premonition stirred in his gut.
With a heavy heart, Feng Bu Jue stepped onto the stone path via the muddy trail. Hurrying to the stains’ side, he crouched for a closer look. From this proximity, he confirmed—these four shapes were unmistakably the silhouettes of Fei Chai Shu, Tian Ma Xing Kong, Hong Hu, and Ji Bu.
“These stains are as smooth as a silhouette, with razor-sharp edges and not a single excess droplet around. They’re not 2D cartoon characters—no way they could imprint onto the ground even if drenched in liquid…”
As he pondered, Feng Bu Jue knelt to touch the stain, intending to examine its texture.
Suddenly—a gust of wind slashed through, and a black shadow lunged from the flank.
Feng Bu Jue reacted instantly. His foot pushed off the ground, propelling him uphill (downhill led to the swamp), putting distance between himself and the unknown threat. In that lightning-fast moment, Death Poker already materialized in his hand, primed for combat.
“Heh… your reflexes aren’t bad either,” a sharp, mechanical voice sneered.
Feng Bu Jue turned, locking eyes with the enemy—a colossal black phantom hand.
“Oh? ‘Not bad either’ huh…” Feng Bu Jue replied coolly, his expression unshaken. “So… you’ve already encountered a few skilled fighters before me.”
His words were airtight. He neither named the “fighters” nor hinted at their connection to him, instead using the opponent’s own words to fish for information.
“They’re right here on the ground,” the black hand retorted, pointing its finger at the stains. A sinister laugh echoed from its palm. “Hehe… You’ll join them soon. I’ll even let you pick your pose.”
“Tch… wiped out entirely?” Feng Bu Jue glanced at the silhouettes, murmuring, “But according to the game menu, they’re still alive. There must be a way to revive them…”
“What’s wrong? Scared speechless?” the hand taunted, pressing closer.
“You’re the Imprint Hand, right?” Feng Bu Jue’s voice turned icy, a sign he was now serious.
“Hah! Otherworld traveler, you know me?!” the Imprint Hand laughed.
Feng Bu Jue had never heard of it—only earlier, Fu Ling had shared intelligence about four guardians on Chu Mo Island: ‘Hand, Eye, Heart, Soul.’ Among them, the ‘Hand’ was called Imprint Hand.
“Hmph… I know a thing or two,” Feng Bu Jue bluffed, smirking. His specialty was intimidation. “I also know your fellow guardians aren’t that strong. But each has a unique ability.” He gestured at the ground. “These four… they got trapped by your parlor trick, right?”
Another ploy. Feng Bu Jue feigned familiarity, adopting an arrogant tone to provoke the enemy. In truth, he knew nothing of the guardians’ abilities—Fu Ling didn’t know either.
“Parlor trick?!” The Imprint Hand’s voice screeched higher. “You fool… you dare call it that?!” It turned its palm backward, flipping him the middle finger. “Let me show you what my ‘parlor trick’ can do!”
“Great. I was hoping you’d say that,” Feng Bu Jue shot back.
At this moment, his stamina and spirit energy reserves were nearly depleted. After consecutive techniques like Southern Dipper Flying Dragon Fist, Ki Cannon, and countless Moon Steps, his body screamed for rest. In a direct fight, his odds of victory barely reached fifty-fifty. And if Fei Chai Shu’s group—strong and numerous—had been defeated, could he possibly win?
Clearly, conventional methods wouldn’t work.
“You want to play dirty…” Feng Bu Jue smirked, his gaze sharp and wicked. “I’ll play along.”
“Hah! I’ll make you regret that arrogance!” The Imprint Hand roared, flipping its palm skyward.
The next second, space around them froze. A misty shadow enveloped the two, forming a cylindrical arena.
“Welcome to the Rock-Paper-Scissors Domain!” the hand’s palm curled into a sinister grin.
“Huh?” Feng Bu Jue dragged out his tone, feigning disinterest. “So this is your ability?” He shot a look of disdain. “I expected something more technical, like a pole dance or something…”
“What’s that?!” The Imprint Hand’s momentum collapsed. Its voice dripped with confusion.
“A dance form,” Feng Bu Jue shrugged.
“I’ve heard of steel pipe dances…” the hand muttered.
“No, those are for flesh-and-blood folks,” Feng Bu Jue said. “You’d need a pole and gallons of lubricant…”
“That’s not a dance! Where’s the skill in that?! Knock it off!” the hand barked.
“You’re a right hand yet your comprehension is laughably naive,” Feng Bu Jue declared solemnly, raising his own right hand, fingers shaped like flames. “You’re like someone knee-deep in water claiming to have seen the ocean. You’re the fool!” He slowly flipped the bird. “Before this Divine Hand, you don’t even deserve to mimic vulgar gestures!”
“In a way… you really are divine…” the hand sighed. “How does someone exude such reckless arrogance, such ridiculous pride, yet still pull off such crassness so effortlessly?!”
“Save your stray dog’s whining for after you lose,” Feng Bu Jue waved his arm. “Let’s go! What’s a mere game of rock-paper-scissors?!”
Hearing Feng Bu Jue silence his nonsense, the Imprint Hand grumbled, returning to the topic. “Hmph… don’t rush. This isn’t ordinary rock-paper-scissors. For fairness, I’ll explain the rules first.”
“Oh… your ability only fully activates if the opponent knows the rules?” Feng Bu Jue cut in.
“Enough chatter!” The Imprint Hand, exposed instantly, flushed with rage. “Either listen or we stay here forever! This domain’s escape-proof!”
“Fine fine… explain,” Feng Bu Jue spread his hands, feigning reluctance.
“First, the win conditions,” the hand continued. “Stone beats scissors, scissors beat paper, paper beats stone. Same choices draw. Three wins decide the match. You can take breaks between rounds—wait a week if you dare,” it sneered. “Just don’t starve to death in my Rock-Paper-Scissors Domain.”
“Mm-hm, anything else?” Feng Bu Jue nodded along.
“If I win…” The Imprint Hand hissed, “I’ll slam you into the ground. Just like them.” It paused, gesturing at the stains.
“Got it. And if I win?” Feng Bu Jue asked.
“Though it’s impossible…” the hand mocked, “but if, by some miracle, you did… I’d let you pass.”
“Just me?” Feng Bu Jue pressed, his tone suddenly confident. “What if I beat you again—win another three rounds?”
“Hehe…” The Imprint Hand grinned slyly. “So they are your comrades, huh?”
Feng Bu Jue stayed silent.
The hand didn’t need confirmation, pointing at the stains. “Starting from the second victory, every three of your wins frees one of them—with full passage authority.” Its voice darkened. “But choose wisely… excluding draws, if you lose three rounds within five consecutive attempts…”
(End of Chapter)
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