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He had just turned away, which put him squarely in the line of fire.
Fortunately, with He Lingchuan’s warning still ringing in his ears, a chill shot through Mao Tao’s heart. That first arrow failed to take him by surprise, and he managed to whip up his blade in time to knock it aside.
In the next moment, the air was filled with the sharp hiss of arrowflight. This time, more than ten arrows tore through the dark at once.
He Lingchuan batted away those aimed at him, then immediately smashed a small bottle against the ground. The bottle shattered with a crisp crack. A thick cloud of white smoke burst out and billowed in every direction, swallowing the woods.
It was a smoke-bomb formula he had learned from Willow in the Panlong Dreamscape. He had Ling Guang refine several variants from that recipe. The one he had chosen to use just now behaved just like a proper smoke grenade.
When both sides were cloaked in origin energy and wielded magic, conjured mist did little to disrupt anyone’s vision. It was nowhere near as effective as a physical smoke bottle like this.
The forest had already been dim. Now, with white smoke spreading, the enemy’s sightlines were reduced to a minimum.
Shan Youjun had drawn his saber as well, but amid the chaos, He Lingchuan heard him grunt. It appeared that he had taken a hit.
Even the bo beast under He Lingchuan’s saddle flashed faint light across its flanks. Two arrows struck its haunches and...
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