Was he trembling with fear?
No, of course not. It was simply because the martial art Meng Zhao had unleashed through Evil Calamity was so overwhelmingly powerful that it had surpassed the strength his own body could bear. Even a grandmaster martial artist could contend with it.
This young Death Sword Guard's martial arts were not especially outstanding. He had merely displayed exceptional talent and comprehension in cultivating Death Spirit Sword Qi. Faced with such terrifying, formidable power—power enough to grind him into pulp—
It was only an instinctive reaction, no different from sweating when feverish or shivering in the cold.
Though the pressure remained, this young Death Sword Guard now revealed something terrifying that set him apart from ordinary martial artists.
In an instant, Meng Zhao saw the hair at his temples, once black as ink, abruptly turn gray-white. His back, once straight as a spear, bent. Even his gleaming eyes dimmed until they lost all color.
His face, once lively, supple, and even somewhat handsome, began to lose its vitality. Wrinkles spread, his skin sagged, and in the blink of an eye, it seemed he had lived through decades and aged several dozen years.
As this horrifying scene unfolded, the phantom image of a massive black sword emerged around his body.
Before the black dragon Meng Zhao had unleashed through Evil Calamity could even touch the young Death Sword Guard, it vanished as though ice and snow melting beneath the sun. Instead, an intense sense of danger hammered against Meng Zhao's mind.
"Danger!"
With a thunderous boom, it was as though rolling thunder had arrived from the edge of the sky. Yet though it was Dark Night, the moon shone bright in a clear sky, without the slightest sign of wind or rain—let alone thunder.
Therefore, this was