The world narrowed to the stage.
Nie Fengzhuo's blade roared free of its sheath, black-crimson light coursing along the edge like a river of molten steel.
His stance was heavy, unyielding—the very ground beneath his feet cracked as his aura surged.
"Nine Desolations Tyrant Sword!"
Each swing was absolute, domineering, a strike that sought to crush all resistance.
His first slash cleaved across the arena, a violent arc of sword-light that tore through the protective formations like thunder.
Bai Xueqing's eyes sharpened. In the same breath, her sword gleamed with dazzling clarity, silver light blooming like rippling waves.
"Nine Shadows Flowing Light Sword!"
Her blade moved, and suddenly there were nine of her. Nine shadows, flowing seamlessly, each one intercepting the overbearing might of Nie Fengzhuo's Tyrant Sword.
The air shimmered with her afterimages, her swordplay elegant and elusive, yet carrying lethal precision.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
