The silence in the arena was broken by the metallic sound.
Both swords were unsheathed at the same time, reflecting the golden morning light.
Kyrian and Mo Tianhai did not exchange a single word. They didn't need to. Their blades would be their mouths.
They advanced together, their feet pounding across the arena with force.
The impact was immediate.
The swords clashed in a straight line, brute force against brute force. The first strike had no technique, no subtlety, only pure brutality.
The sound reverberated through the stands, echoing across the inner sect.
Kyrian was the first to yield. The weight of Mo Tianhai's blade was crushing, every inch pressing his sword back. His arms trembled slightly, and his feet slid across the stone floor.
One step. Two. Three steps.
Tianhai growled low, pressing even harder.
But then Kyrian's gaze gleamed.
His sword moved lightly, almost imperceptibly, and suddenly the blades broke apart. In an instant, the balance of force shifted.
