"Can you see me draw my blade?"
At that moment, Kawabata Nozomu stared at Yang Ming in astonishment. He had struck Chisong Xue three times just now—there was no doubt about it.
But his blade technique was incredibly fast. Looking over the entire banquet, there were only a handful of people who could clearly see him draw his sword.
There was no way he could believe that this five-year-old child had seen him draw it!
He must have guessed!
He seemed to have found the answer.
"Why wouldn't I see it? For the first strike, your hand rested on the hilt as you assumed a drawing stance. For the second, your index finger hooked the guard, and the blade left its sheath. For the third—no, by then you had already sheathed your sword. In truth, you only used one and a half strikes to kill him."
Yang Ming nodded, his expression utterly serious.
With every word Yang Ming spoke, Kawabata Nozomu's expression changed further. By the end, his face had turned completely solemn.
Looking at Yang Ming, he no longer dared underestimate him.
Could he really be some kind of extraordinary person? Though he looks like a small child, could he actually be forty or fifty years old?
His heart grew heavy, and he felt he could see through Yang Ming less and less.
If the first three strikes had been guesses, then accurately describing every detail of each draw was no trivial matter. He was confident that not even his teacher, Chizuru Koichi, could have described them in such detail.
There was only one explanation for all this: the child before him was an extraordinary person!
As Yang Ming spoke and Kawabata Nozomu's expression grew solemn, everyone sensed that something was wrong.
They now shared Kawabata Nozomu's thought. Could