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Swish, swish, swish!
Several longswords simultaneously thrust toward Zhao Changhe, who was descending from midair with a powerful strike.
Every sword strike seemed meticulously measured, with perfect coordination from every angle—some attacking, some blocking, some assisting, some disrupting—forming a complex sword formation. It was more precise than any traditional combat formation honed through years of practice.
The main attacker was Lan Wujiang.
His injuries had healed, and his swordsmanship seemed to have improved. As his sword thrust upward, Zhao Changhe felt the biting cold of snow-capped peaks, a chill that penetrated to the bone.
It was no longer just Lan Wujiang’s own sword art—what he had come to use now was mostly Shi Wuding’s sword art.
Yet Zhao Changhe paid it no mind.
Is that all?
With a loud clang, he cleaved right into the heart of the sword net.
Violent waves of bloodthirsty saber energy rippled out in all directions, forcing several sword slaves to retreat with muffled groans. At the forefront, Lan Wujiang’s sword was shattered, and he staggered back in shock.
Zhao Changhe’s strength was terrifying!
He broke into the formation, grabbed Han Wubing, and said, “Let’s...
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