The Encirclement

Silver Eagle accepted his defeat wholeheartedly.

The duel had followed exactly the rhythm he had expected and lasted more than a hundred moves, but the Dragon King's approach had surprised him. He had not unleashed his lightning-fast killing stroke; instead, he had traded blows with Silver Eagle, steady and sure.

It had been a hundred-odd moves that left the heart pounding. No tricks, no underhanded tactics. Every move began as if it would end the duel, yet each clash ended in a deadlock, like two rams fighting over a mate, hurling themselves at each other with reckless abandon.

As the duel wore on, their moves grew simpler. They had already figured each other out. Silver Eagle was no longer unfathomable, and the Dragon King was no longer bizarre and unpredictable. Elaborate feints would not fool the other man; they would only waste the precious time they had left.

Looking back afterward, Silver Eagle felt he had had four or five chances to win, but he had failed to seize them. He felt no regret, though. The Dragon King had also missed a few openings during the duel, but he had caught the last one.

Silver Eagle had still lost to that sinister Ice Qi. Their saber fight had reached a stalemate, and the Dragon King's newly learned Palm Technique with his left hand had forced Silver Eagle to meet it head-on.

They exchanged seventeen palm strikes in all. The Dragon King's control over that force grew more practiced with each one; after every strike, it seemed he had improved. At first it was like a thief, able to strike only when its target was caught unawares. From the sixth strike onward, it became like a master burglar, breaking into a heavily guarded manor. By the eleventh, it had transformed again,