Dai Mubai flew a short distance behind Ma Hongjun, watching his back.
He noticed that Ma Hongjun flew differently from the others.
Zhao Wuji relied on brute force to flap his wings. He was fast, but made a huge commotion, each beat stirring up a whirlwind.
Li Yusong and Lu Qibin flew steadily but at an average speed, as though they were strolling through the air, unhurried and unhurried.
Oscar flew the most naturally. His Martial Soul was formed from the wings produced by the Sharp-Tailed Rain Swallow soul ring, and he used them like his own limbs—he could go fast when he wanted, slow when he wanted, stop when he wanted, completely at ease.
As for Ma Hongjun, Dai Mubai could not quite pin down his style, but his flying posture was remarkably effortless.
The Light Wings did not flap often, yet the angle and force of every beat were just right. The wind slid over the wings with almost no unnecessary resistance.
He had no idea how much time Ma Hongjun had spent practicing flight over the past year, aside from training his fists and feet on the practice grounds.
Wings of Light was his first soul skill. Ma Hongjun had been practicing it ever since the day he acquired it.
He practiced taking off, landing, hovering, sharp turns, dives, and weaving between treetops without knocking down a single leaf.
A year's worth of hard work was all in those wings.
"Hongjun, look over there."
Oscar's voice came from diagonally behind him.
Ma Hongjun looked in the direction Oscar pointed.
To the southeast, roughly two or three li away, a patch of woodland shimmered with a pale golden glow under the sunlight.
It was not the color of the leaves. Something above the canopy was reflecting the sunlight,