Night fell.
Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, council hall.
The candles burned brightly, casting several shadowy figures onto the walls.
Bone Douluo Gu Rong abruptly rose to his feet, knocking his chair backward with a dull crash.
He stood nearly eight feet tall, his shriveled muscles clinging tightly to his skeleton. His withered skin carried an ashen hue beneath the candlelight, making him look like a standing corpse.
Yet his eyes blazed with fury.
"What did you say? That old bastard was defeated by a sword?!"
His voice was hoarse and shrill, like two rusted iron plates grinding together.
Ning Fengzhi stood nearby, his face gray and drained, fine beads of sweat still clinging to his forehead.
He opened his mouth, his voice dry.
"Uncle Sword... really did lose. That woman used only one move."
"One move?!"
Bone Douluo's pupils abruptly shrank.
Defeating Sword Douluo Chen Xin in a single move—
the continent's foremost offensive Title Douluo?
"Where's that old bastard?" Bone Douluo swept his gaze around the hall.
"Uncle Sword is in the rear courtyard."
The moment the words fell, a figure entered from outside.
Chen Xin's complexion was bleak, paler than usual, and the fingers gripping his sword trembled slightly.
He walked into the hall, stopped beside Ning Fengzhi, and said nothing.
"Old bastard!" Bone Douluo took a stride forward and rushed before Chen Xin.
"Tell me, did you really lose? To a woman? In one move?"
Chen Xin fell silent for a moment before slowly speaking. "I lost."
"Completely and utterly."
Bone Douluo froze.
He had known Chen Xin for decades, yet he had never seen this old rival wear such an expression.
It was as though something had utterly crushed him.
"We've already been planted with a spiritual restriction." Chen Xin's voice was low and weary.