Chapter Twenty-Three: I Am an Actor

Zhang He’s current agility was at 24 points. Honestly, for the first one or two hundred meters, that was quite fast, but his constitution and endurance couldn’t support that speed for long. In this brief window, his mind was already racing to devise a way to deal with his pursuers.

His only hope now was that the three wouldn’t catch up together. If all three came at once, he would be powerless to resist—not because he was underestimating himself or boosting their morale, but because it was a simple fact. That was why, as Zhang He darted up the shadowy mountain, he deliberately chose the densest ends of the bamboo forest to slip through.

No one expected the first to catch up would be Gou Buli. He was a ranged class, and ranged fighters were rarely slow. By the side of a large boulder, Zhang He leaned on the rock, panting hard.

“I warned you, but you just wouldn’t listen. Now die!” Gou Buli, twenty meters behind him, raised his hand and released a cloud of black smoke.

“Swish, swish!”

Zhang He twisted aside, dodging as the Green Peak Darts thunked into the rock.

“Think you can keep dodging?” Gou Buli now raised both palms, sending out two more clouds of black smoke, four Green Peak Darts in quick succession.

What made these darts particularly deadly wasn’t just their sharpness—they were slender, pitch-black, and with the billowing smoke, they were almost invisible. By the time you saw them, it was already too late.

Clearly, Gou Buli had practiced hard over the last few days. The Green Peak Darts had leveled up, and he could now throw four at once, one in each hand.

Zhang He barely dodged the first two, spun in place to avoid the third, but there was no way to evade the last. With a dull thud, the dart struck him squarely in the waist. A red “-68” flashed above his head as he collapsed, motionless.

“Hmph, overestimating yourself. You dare oppose our Qingcheng Sect? You must have a death wish.” Gou Buli cursed as he emerged from the woods. His darts did 120 points of damage each—no beginner could survive that.

But he could never have imagined how much Zhang He had improved in these past days. Could a single dart really finish him?

Gou Buli strode forward and kicked Zhang He’s body hard before bending down to retrieve the brocade box at Zhang He’s waist.

At that instant, Zhang He suddenly rolled over, the Frostblade Sword sweeping out in a horizontal slash.

A sharp hiss, a critical hit in yellow: “-182!”

With a thud, Gou Buli fell to one knee, clutching his throat as blood we