He could even clearly feel the terrifying killing intent contained at the tip of the sword.
As long as his opponent's sword advanced even a fraction farther, his life would end here.
For a moment, the entire arena—even the entire central square—fell into deathly silence.
The boisterous jeers, gleeful discussions, and tsunami-like cheers from before all came to an abrupt halt in that instant.
Everyone stood frozen in place, as though they had been immobilized by a spell.
Their eyes widened one after another, their mouths hanging open.
Their faces were filled with utter shock, horror, and disbelief.
It was as though they had witnessed the most absurd, world-shattering scene imaginable.
He had lost? Sun Jian, the sword-dao genius and foremost Core Disciple under Holy Son Li Ao.
That arrogant Sun Jian, who had declared that he would torture Yang Tianling to death.
Had actually... lost?
And he had lost to an obscure Rogue Cultivator guest elder in such a clean, astonishingly unbelievable manner?
This... how was this possible?
A tidal wave surged through everyone's minds. They simply could not believe what their eyes had seen.
"Gulp."
Someone swallowed with difficulty, producing an almost imperceptible sound.
Yet in the deathly silence, it rang out with exceptional clarity.
From the VIP seats came a thunderous crash. Holy Son Li Ao abruptly rose from his seat.
The table before him, crafted from thousand-year-old red sandalwood, had been smashed apart by his palm, exploding into a sky full of powder.
Li Ao's face was livid, as though dark clouds had gathered overhead.
His eyes spat blazing fury and boundless venom, enough to burn everything to ashes.
"Trash, trash, trash!"
He ground his teeth and forced the words through clenched teeth, every one of them brimming with overwhelming killing intent and unwillingness to accept