Yet what met his eyes was an expressionless face.
Zhao Feng stood there, apparently lost in thought. He really was spacing out, and was even a little bored. Although the pressure had increased, it felt like nothing more than carrying a schoolbag on his back.
Why keep up the act? You're probably about to buckle! Gu Rong sneered inwardly.
Just then, with a thud, his junior brother Yan Xun could no longer withstand the pressure and dropped to his knees behind him.
Still, there were just about two hundred people left on the field. If his mounted archery score edged out someone else's, he could make the top two hundred.
Time ticked by, second after second, but to the two hundred people on the field, every second felt like a year.
Many were sweating like rain, their backs bent like bows, and people began collapsing one after another.
At last, only a quarter of an hour remained.
Fewer than a hundred people were still standing. Zhao Feng turned to look around.
Not far away, fine beads of sweat seeped from Xie Qiu's forehead, and the collar of his martial attire was soaked. His face was slightly pale, his back bent as he struggled to stay upright. The true qi surrounding him seemed to have transformed into soft force, shedding the pressure bit by bit. Although he cut a sorry figure, his gaze remained resolute, without the slightest intention of retreating.
Meanwhile, soybean-sized beads of sweat kept dripping from Mu Xingze's face. His true qi had also changed, flowing and spreading slowly like a trickling stream, dispersing the pressure coming from every direction. He seemed to have already figured out how the array formation's pressure operated. Every time the pressure increased, he adjusted his true qi beforehand, allowing him to hold