Meng Zhao had spent the past few nights, aside from cultivating through breathing exercises and restoring this body's vital energy, contemplating his own strengths and weaknesses.
His weaknesses were actually few. The greatest flaw was perhaps the unrestrained dominance and immense divine might of his previous life, which had given rise to a lofty gaze and feeble hands, an attitude of looking down on everything. That was all too likely to cause trouble. As the saying went, proud armies were bound to lose. How could the Meng Zhao of the past be described as merely proud?
He also had quite a few advantages. For instance, Meng Zhao carried boundless martial wisdom and an unreachable realm of martial arts. The martial arts of the world could be grasped as easily as picking something up from the ground. It was an advantage comparable to a great power being reincarnated.
So long as Meng Zhao could properly recognize and assess his own strengths and weaknesses, he would naturally be invincible wherever he went.
For example, at this very moment, Meng Zhao gripped his long sword, his fighting intent ringing like steel. With his abundant experience and ingenious methods, his five senses had been amplified to their utmost limit.
There was nothing to say, nor anything more to discuss. The two sides were already locked in a struggle to the death. Either they died, or he lived.
Originally, as the seemingly isolated and disadvantaged side, Meng Zhao should have advanced steadily, responded to ten thousand changes with constancy, and waited for a chance to kill them.
Yet reality was that Meng Zhao stepped forward in a square gait, directly advancing, his feet grinding two parallel, straight trenches through the thick snow.
Wind and snow filled the sky, but when they fell upon Meng Zhao,