With a single thrust, three Swords of Death shattered at once. Immediately afterward, only the last Sword of Death remained, barely holding on.
Dole's face was expressionless. Gripping his spear with both hands, he drove it down viciously. Sorov, his features twisted savagely, raised both hands high as though he were holding up heaven and earth itself.
And Dole was directly above his head.
The gap between the two avatars was plain for all to see.
At this sight, the surrounding ninth-ranks had their hearts leap into their throats. Sorov had actually lost.
Four Swords of Death unleashed at once, yet he had lost—unable to withstand even a single strike from Dole's spear? This witchcraft was Sorov's signature art.
And three of them had been snapped apart in an instant. Just how ruthless was Dole's move?
Just then, space stirred faintly, and a metallic clang rang through heaven and earth. Everyone saw that the final Sword of Death had cracked as well.
The next moment, Sorov's figure suddenly burst apart. A cloud of black mist appeared where he had stood, and Dole's spear stabbed fiercely into its center.
The black mist churned and swallowed both of them, concealing them from sight. No one knew what was happening within. A moment later, Dole's strange avatar leaped out, his clothes in tatters and his body wreathed in deathly aura.
His hands were empty. Expressionlessly, he swept his gaze around, lingering especially on the five members of the Shaman God Family as a cold smile curled across his lips.
At that moment, everyone's hearts skipped a beat. Sorov had lost.
After more than a hundred years, a mighty peak ninth-rank had finally been born into this world. The moment he appeared, he defeated Sorov, one of the world's top three. From now on,