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Ping'an froze. The fire in his eyes crystallized into murderous ice.
No more words. He sheathed his sword, fixed his gaze, and drew again.
This time the draw birthed countless Ping'an. It was as if every millisecond of the young man’s motion was captured by an impossibly fast shutter and frozen in its own slice of spacetime, each copy rushing forward in a seamless, lethal procession…
Whoever faced this skill had to survive not one strike, but the combined weight of dozens of Ping'ans super-imposed in the same instant.
The earlier 34 clones had been 34 separate fighters; now those 34 snapshots were compressed into one.
Ping'an’s peak combat power still remained at 7,880, yet every iota of that power was being squeezed for all it was worth. He was furious.
Yet it still wasn’t enough.
Li Yuan raised the sycamore twig. It became an unscalable mountain. Ping'an’s clones burst like soap bubbles against it.
Unwilling to yield, he...
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