"It would have been wiser to remain discreet," Chen Mo muttered, fighting to keep his voice steady.
The old man chuckled, a sound like dry leaves scraping stone.
"Oh, there's no need for discretion when facing someone so far beneath me."
The words barely left his lips before he vanished.
One instant he stood twenty paces away; the next—
"Urgh!"
Pain exploded through Chen Mo's leg. He dropped to one knee, blood welling from a clean slice across his ankle tendon.
The assassin reappeared in front of him, cane still raised, a cruel smile splitting his wrinkled face.
"I think I'll enjoy playing with you for a while," he said, voice dripping with malice.
Chen Mo bit down on the agony, forcing it into a distant corner of his mind.
Sword still clutched tight, he lunged, swinging in a desperate arc aimed at the old man's throat.
The strike never landed.
The assassin flickered aside with mocking ease, the movement so fast it left an afterimage in the dark.
