The power contained within the wooden saber invoked by Old Blade Zhao was, in truth, part of Meng Zhao's own power. It bore the saber realm Meng Zhao had cultivated—majestic, upright, tyrannical, and fierce; above, it could cleave the sun, moon, and stars, below, it could open famed mountains and mighty rivers.
More precious still, the saber contained Meng Zhao's Way of the Dragon and Way of Change, shifting as he pleased and moving according to the moment. It was by no means some crude method with strength alone and no technique.
But no matter what, this power of Meng Zhao's was exceedingly righteous and aboveboard.
The black pendant dagger Gu Li detonated was different. In an instant, his body was shrouded in dense black mist. Layers of black light continuously stretched and twisted, forming a pitch-black tiger-shaped radiance that enveloped his body.
That tiger-shaped black radiance brimmed with an ominous aura. The moment it appeared, it made the hearts and minds of all who saw it sway, their seven emotions surging forth. Among the spectators, any whose cultivation was lacking or whose mental will was unsteady either wept bitter tears, clutched their bellies in laughter, drowned in sorrow, or sank into hopeless silence—the myriad faces of life were all contained within it.
Those with profound cultivation were even more aghast, for they could sense a silent yet immensely tyrannical power interfering with their mental will.
And this was merely an indiscriminate, scattered emission. If it were concentrated against a single person, it was hard to imagine what means would be needed to survive intact.
Upon the great arena, the Green Dragon and Black Tiger now appeared. Dragon roars and tiger howls rang out as they tore and bit at one another, locked in a dragon-tiger struggle. Amid the thunderous