"When you used the terrain to entrap me, you also used it to entrap yourselves."
Watching Bo Ziran retreat all the way to the barrier, Zhang Yu sneered, having already manifested four Formless Warriors, two on each side, blocking the opponent.
Seeing Zhang Yu charging fiercely, Bo Ziran really wanted to shout, "Don't come over here!"
He wasn't afraid of Zhang Yu; he was afraid of his own teammates.
Especially seeing Zhang Yu, as if merely taking a bath, continuously enduring waves of blood lightning, explosions, and silver palm strikes.
Bo Ziran definitely didn't have the ability to tank like Zhang Yu.
But Ma Xuan promptly reassured him in the competition group, "Don't worry, we've opened shared attack intentions and mutually marked attack targets, so we won't easily hit you."
In the eye view shared among Ma Xuan's team of four, four types of markers—representing palms, blood drops, air currents, and small swords—kept jumping around, signifying each of the four's attacks.
