Zhou Peng held a flying sword as he slowly approached Shen Hao. His steps were steady; each time his foot fell, the hard obsidian arena trembled faintly and gave off a dull boom. As he drew nearer, his powerful aura grew ever denser, like a mountain pressing down from above, squeezing the breath from Shen Hao's chest.
Shen Hao took a deep breath and pushed the Meridian Tempering Art to its limit. In an instant, spiritual energy raced through the jade-white meridians within him. His previously sluggish aura became incomparably smooth, and more than half of Zhou Peng's pressure was dispelled. With the third level of Flowing Cloud Steps, "Flowing Cloud Shadow Transformation," beneath his feet, he flitted across the arena like a ghost. His footsteps shifted unpredictably, leaving behind faint afterimages as he searched for an opening in Zhou Peng's defenses.
Zhou Peng's gaze was as sharp as an eagle's, fixed tightly on Shen Hao's figure. No matter how Shen Hao's movement technique changed, his eyes never strayed in the slightest. He knew that Shen Hao's footwork was his greatest advantage. To defeat Shen Hao, he first had to break that footwork.
Suddenly, Zhou Peng halted. His wrist flipped sharply, and the flying sword in his hand shot forth like a venomous snake leaving its hole. It was a simple thrust, swift as lightning, aimed straight at Shen Hao's brow. The strike appeared plain and unadorned, yet it contained endless transformations. Its sword momentum sealed every route of retreat around Shen Hao, leaving him nowhere to evade.
Shen Hao's eyes narrowed. So fast. He did not dare slacken in the slightest. With a light flick of his wrist, the Basic Flying Sword in his hand hooked at an impossible angle like an antelope hanging its horns, precisely parrying Zhou