Ning Fengzhi paused slightly, then smiled. "Since Sword Douluo is interested, I'll have to trouble you, Sword Douluo."
Chen Xin said no more. Without seeming to move much, he vanished from everyone's sight. A white figure swept across dozens of meters like a wisp of smoke and landed silently on the arena, stopping three feet before Yan.
He did not release the pressure of a Title Douluo, yet merely standing there, he was like a divine sword drawn three inches from its sheath. Though its edge had not been fully revealed, the air across the entire arena had already turned stagnant and sharp.
Xie Yue, Hu Liena, and the others instinctively retreated several steps, their faces filled with reverence.
Only Yan remained calm. Facing this legendary pinnacle swordsman, he neither humbled nor demeaned himself as he bowed slightly. "This junior, Yan, greets Sword Douluo."
Chen Xin nodded faintly, his gaze sweeping over Yan as tangibly as substance, as though he wished to see through him completely.
"Relax your mind. Do not resist," he said blandly.
At the same time, he raised his right hand and pressed his index and middle fingers together. At their tips, a point of silver sword radiance slowly lit up—condensed to the extreme, nearly shapeless, yet causing the surrounding space to twist faintly.
Using his Soul Power to guide Yan's hand into the air, he formed a sword finger and lightly pointed toward Yan's pulse point.
Before his fingertips arrived, a sharp yet harmless sword intent had already entered Yan's body, instantly coursing through every bone.
Time seemed to slow at that moment.
The entire venue fell silent. Everyone held their breath and focused, watching the snow-white-clad elder and the calm red-haired youth on the arena.
Yu Xiaogang's bloodshot eyes widened further. His nails nearly dug