Tang Hao pointed his hammer at Zhao Linchuan--
"You bastard!! You dare send me a coffin!! I'll kill you--!!!"
But before he could finish, a flash of gold and white streaked across Tang Hao's vision, dazzling and sharp, like lightning tearing through the night sky.
He instinctively lowered his head and blinked. The instant his eyelids shut, a faint whistle cut through the air beside his ears.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
By the time he opened his eyes again, he was completely dumbfounded!
Six golden swords were pointed at six vital spots: the backs of his knees, his chest, abdomen, throat, and the center of his back.
The tips pressed against his clothes. The cold touch of metal seeped through the fabric, making every hair on his body stand on end.
Six "Zhao Linchuans" surrounded him. Six pairs of eyes stared at him, their gazes calm and indifferent, as if he were a piece of fish pinned to a chopping board.
"H-how is this possible?!"
Tang Hao's voice trembled. Cold sweat streamed from his forehead, ran down the tip of his nose, and dripped onto the Adamantine Rock floor, where it spread into a small damp patch.
His Adam's apple bobbed violently as he swallowed. He forced himself to argue:
"Y-you cheated... I-I wasn't ready..."
"Is that so?" Zhao Linchuan's true self emerged slowly from behind the six clones. He walked up to Tang Hao and stopped in front of him. "You were about to kill me, and now you're saying you weren't ready?"
He reached out and unhurriedly patted Tang Hao's face.
"Slap, slap, slap."
Three pats—not hard enough to hurt, but plenty humiliating.
Tang Hao ground his teeth so hard they clicked. The muscles in his cheeks twitched, but he didn't dare even breathe too loudly.