A Single Strike on the Arena Strips Away the Witch Script

Attention returned to the arena.

Ming Qiu Mo unleashed his Bronze Saber, its flow like a surging river, endless and unbroken. It was hard to imagine that the bitterly cold Northern Territory could nurture such a grand and majestic saber art.

Gorgeous, exquisite, lofty—every word of praise that left one marveling could be bestowed upon it.

By comparison, Zhou You's staff technique seemed rather childish.

He held a wooden staff and swung it as if a Mischievous Child were whipping rapeseed flowers, wild and uninhibited, without the slightest sense of grim tension or murderous chill.

Seeing him, many people recalled their childhoods: beneath the setting sun, they had picked up a stick and treasured it like a jewel. On the way home, wild grass and flowers, stray cats and dogs—all suffered, each getting smacked a few times.

For every boy, the most precious toy in life was a wooden staff picked up by the roadside.

"Childlike innocence can be woven into a weapon technique as well. Splendid!"

Ming Qiu Mo's Bronze Saber art was plainly the work of a renowned school with a long heritage. Its forms were stern and orderly, possessing defenses through which not even water could be splashed, along with attacks and killing force that slipped through every crack.

Yet before Zhou You's staff technique, it gained not the slightest advantage.

The staff technique... Wild Striking. Only today had it been honed to great completion. It looked chaotic beyond measure, yet in truth, it was seamless and without gaps.

Now and then, Zhou You sent out Flying Rods with one hand, strokes as miraculous as if inspired by the gods. They startled Ming Qiu Mo into breaking out in cold sweat, forcing him to go all out just to block them.

Meanwhile, the fierce killing moves he