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Qing Hancheng sensed Li Yuan’s train of thought. Instead of rushing in, he began packing shadow blood around himself.
The liquid aura gathered and stretched beside him, shaping a sword of thin crimson which was also several hundred meters along.
Li Yuan watched the weapon take form and simply brought his own blade down.
Qing Hancheng answered with a plain, unadorned swing.
BOOM! The blood sword shattered again, bursting into mist, while Li Yuan’s blade remained upright and unbroken.
Qing Hancheng staggered back two steps, dumbfounded. Two exchanges were enough. That blade carried no tricks, only raw, crushing force meant to sweep everything aside.
Across the gap Li Yuan’s voice drifted over. “Still with me?”
Qing Hancheng called back, “Why is that slash so terrifyingly strong?”
Li Yuan dismissed the blade and flicked a hand. A fallen twig sailed to him; he pinched it, gave it a gentle shake. The twig quivered, faster and faster, until both the hand and twig seemed to freeze. Yet the wood turned...
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