Yet a weakness was a weakness after all. As the fierce battle dragged on, Meng Zhao's ever-vigorous body began to show signs of depletion. His true qi could no longer replenish itself as quickly as it was consumed. Continuing the fight would not mean defeat, but it would drain his vital essence—a loss outweighing the gain.
The Gebhu Dharma King fought like a saint of war, his grasp of both his enemy's and his own condition having reached an exceptionally precise and subtle level. Delighted within, his momentum surged ever higher. His heart thumped, pumping vigorous blood through his entire body, increasing his strength by another thirty percent. He possessed the tyrannical might to uproot mountains where mountains stood, to shove aside rivers where rivers flowed.
The Dragon Elephant Fist Technique seemed divinely aided as it was unleashed. Simple and unadorned, yet great skill appeared clumsy; one move outweighed a thousand others. Magnificent golden light blazed like a scorching sun.
Meng Zhao neither dodged nor retreated. He and the Gebhu Dharma King exchanged blows, neither yielding an inch, each hammering the other's body with three punches. The deep, resonant booms of a bronze bell rang out. Airwaves exploded, the ground shattered, and rocks from the mountain rolled down under the violent tremors.
Borrowing the recoil from the final punch, Meng Zhao flew backward ten zhang. He had not been defeated; he was deliberately widening the distance.
Purple divine radiance around Meng Zhao's body transformed into Purple True Dragons, swimming and coiling outside his skin. His eyes were like great stars. He resembled one of those powerful Gods and Devils who commanded true dragons, his aura majestic and tyrannical, sacred and inviolable.
An exquisite technique within his body began to circulate. His blood was like purple qi arriving from the east,