The Finals Are Approaching

Lin San's pupils contracted sharply.

In that instant, his mind spun wildly, trying to tell which figure was real and which was an illusion. But the conclusion his mind reached was—every one of them was real.

They were not illusions, not clones, not some Soul Skill. Situ Xuan had launched attacks from eight directions at the same time.

It made no sense.

But it had happened.

Lin San had no time to think. His body reacted faster than his mind, his hands crossing in front of him as his Storm Domain unfurled at full power. Cyan air currents spread outward with him at the center, forming a rotating storm.

Countless tiny wind blades were mixed into the storm, slashing simultaneously toward the eight figures in eight directions.

A wide-area attack, an attempt to shatter those illusions.

Unfortunately...

The illusions were all real.

Or rather, the so-called illusions were all attacks Situ Xuan had unleashed at certain points in time. He had simply been so fast that people thought they were attacks launched simultaneously.

Eight attacks—fists, palms, legs, elbows...

They were launched at eight different points within the same second, but the speed was so great that the intervals between those points could be ignored, making them look as if they had struck at the same time.

This was the pinnacle of the Body Martial Soul—the pinnacle of speed.

Lin San's wind blades cut into those figures, slicing apart the air and tearing through afterimages, but they did not cut down Situ Xuan. Situ Xuan's fists passed through the gaps between the wind blades, through the openings in the storm, through every defense, and landed solidly on Lin San's body.

The first punch struck his left shoulder.

The second palm hit his right ribs.

The third kick swept into his waist.