Han's patience thinned with each passing second. Every time Lin and Wu forced him to reset the countdown, every time he was interrupted, it felt like a blow to his very core. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, his blood staining his robes as the wound on his side pulsed with pain. Five breaths. That was all he had. Five.
A deep, burning frustration spread through him. He had trained, prepared, and calculated for this exact moment, but his opponents weren't allowing him the space to breathe. They knew. Wu and Lin had to know that the time was ticking down to the most critical moment. But they didn't care. They pressed on, without hesitation, relentless.
Each of their strikes was calculated, designed to force Han to make a decision—to act before his time ran out. And yet, it wasn't just their strikes that wore him down. It was the mental battle. The feeling of being cornered, of having the weight of the situation press in on him.
For a fleeting second, his gaze drifted to the Burrowhide Lizard. The beast was still there, motionless, as if mocking him. An obstacle he didn't need right now.
But the moment passed.
Han's frustration grew with each passing second, his breath quickening. The time he'd hoped for to recharge and unleash his trump card was slipping through his fingers. He had already used the beast as a stalling tactic, but the interruptions kept coming, forcing him to start over every time. The beast's presence, while not offensive, was enough to delay his plans further. It was becoming clear—he could not afford to wait any longer.
The battle had stretched on long enough. Wu and Lin were relentless, and though they were exhausted, their combined pressure was slowly eroding his focus. Han's mind raced with every breath. His trump card, his most precious weapon, was one of his life-saving techniques, and it was something he couldn't afford to waste. Not now. Not with this fight hanging in the balance.
A flash of frustration crossed his mind. He glanced at Wu and Lin, who were both eyeing him with an intensity that made his heart tighten. They knew what was coming—they had to.
But there was no more time to wait.
Han's hand moved to his robes, and he pulled out a second-rank talisman—an item he had obtained rather accidentally in the market. It was a rare consumable, one of the kind of treasures that were hard to come by, and even harder to obtain without the right connections. He hadn't meant to buy it, but in the chaos of the market, he had ended up with it in his hands. Now, in the midst of a desperate battle, that small oversight was about to become his salvation.
Second-rank talismans weren't like regular pills or artifacts. They were immensely valuable and difficult to acquire, requiring either a powerful sect background or the rare feat of slaying a second-rank spiritual beast—a task that was difficult in itself because the beasts had the advantage of their powerful, naturally enhanced bodies. Killing one wasn't impossible, but it was far from easy. Yet here he was, holding one of these rare treasures in his hand.
Han's eyes fell to the talisman, and a pang of regret tightened his chest. He had hoped never to use it—this was a last-resort item, a card he only wished to play when there was no other choice. And now, he had no choice.
His heart ached as he unsealed the talisman. It was one of his most precious items, a lifesaver that could shift the tide of battle. But at what cost? He felt the sting of the decision. To use it now meant he was committed—no turning back. If he failed, there would be nothing left.
The talisman flickered in his palm, its faint glow illuminating his clenched expression.
"I have no other choice," Han muttered under his breath, a trace of bitterness in his voice.
Han flicked the talisman forward.
A faint shimmer rippled in the air as the delicate charm dissolved into nothingness, like embers blown away by wind. In the same breath, an unnatural stillness blanketed the battlefield—subtle, invisible, yet sharp.
Three breaths.
Just three.
He didn't even need to check. He could already see it in their eyes—Lin's stance shifted half an inch too slow, Wu's gaze faltered for a blink too long. Their instincts were reacting. Their perception thrown ever so slightly off balance.
Vision, hearing, taste, touch, smell—all dulled. Not silenced. Just misaligned. It won't disarm them, but it will delay. A clever trick. A sliver of time that shouldn't exist.
Han clenched his fists, breathing steadily. I could strike. Right now. Their guards are half-raised. I could try to end it here.
His foot shifted forward.
Then he froze.
But what if I'm wrong? What if they move by reflex? A cultivator's body doesn't rely on thought—it remembers. Even if their senses lie, their bones won't.
His jaw tensed.
This isn't a duel. This is survival.
Han took a step back instead.
Use it as it was meant to be used.
Stall. Delay. Endure.
One breath.
Two.
Three.
Stillness.
Then, the ache in his chest twisted. Not from the fight, not from fatigue—but from the knowledge of what he'd just spent.
That talisman… I didn't even bargain for it. Just happened to find it one day in the back of an old chest, buried between spirit herbs. I almost didn't take it.
And now it's gone.
A second-rank talisman—one of the few things I had that could turn fate around. Not to block a fatal blow. Not to escape death. Just to buy five seconds.
His eyes darkened.
Five breaths. That's what this has come to.
The air trembled faintly, but neither Lin nor Wu moved.
Lin narrowed his eyes. Something felt off. His blade hovered mid-air, muscles tensed to strike—but he didn't.
Not because of hesitation.
Because instinct was screaming.
The world felt… wrong.
Not louder. Not quieter. Just—untrustworthy.
His grip tightened on his sword. Did I just misjudge the distance? No. It wasn't his sight alone. Everything—his hearing, the beat of his heart, even the feel of wind brushing against his skin—was fractionally slower, slightly distorted.
Just enough to make a fatal strike uncertain.
Beside him, Wu lowered his stance ever so slightly. Their gazes met for a fraction of a second, both understanding without saying a word.
No panic.
Just caution.
Wu tilted his chin slightly. A signal.
Lin nodded in return.
He used something, they both knew.
But there was no point rushing in now. They were cultivators. Rushing blindly was what got cultivators killed.
So they waited.
Two breaths passed.
Then three.
The air shifted again. That strange veil—whatever it was—dissipated like mist in morning light.
The tension snapped.
Both Lin and Wu moved again.
But the moment was gone.
Han had already resumed his stance.
And whatever advantage they thought they'd pressed—they'd lost it.
The haze lifted.
And in that single breath where clarity returned—
Lin lunged.
Wu followed.
No hesitation. No signals. Just instinct.
Steel shimmered. Wind split.
Han's eyes widened—They're attacking? Now?!
He staggered back a step, caught off-guard. They didn't even pause to reassess—!
He had barely enough time to raise his guard, but it wouldn't be enough.
Not with both of them coming at him, not with his momentum just returning.
His gaze flicked to the side.
The beast.
The burrowing lizard, docile and quiet, sat nearby. Unbothered. Unmoving.
His hand moved before thought could catch up.
If I can't buy time… then I'll force it.
With a snap of his fingers, spiritual essence surged.
The beast's body glowed faintly—then ruptured with a muffled explosion.
Dirt. Dust. Cracked stone.
A sudden burst of earth and debris swallowed the space between them.
Enough to break their rhythm.
Enough to stall for five more breaths.
Han's jaw clenched, heart pounding.
I'm not going to let this slip.