Liu Yunche knew that this was a path his grandfather had forged for himself, one that suited him best.
His grandfather had fought for a lifetime, existing in a constant state of peril, which was why he treated every single strike as his last.
Then what about himself? The thought flashed through his mind, vanishing like a stone dropped into water.
Yet the saber of his grandfather's phantom did not stop because Liu Yunche had fallen into deep thought.
Every single cut felt as though it could cleave a divine mountain asunder.
The phantom's blade descended once more, and before Liu Yunche could process the thought, his body moved on its own.
The saber tilted at a slight angle, meeting the falling edge at a microscopic angle, and the moment they contacted, his wrist rotated slightly, diverting that overwhelming force off to his flank.
What angle of attack was required to deflect his grandfather's heavy saber with a force of four ounces moving a thousand catties?
Liu Yunche did not need to ponder this; like pure instinct, his body moved before his brain could register it.
They clashed with terrifying ferocity, their blades colliding violently. Across the Blood-Red Wasteland, two figures charged and intersected, the sound ringing out ceaselessly.
Of course, from beginning to end, Liu Yunche remained at an absolute disadvantage. His Thunderclap Saber Art was, after all, only at the Lesser Success realm, whereas the saber art displayed by his grandfather's phantom was at the Perfection level.
Liu Yunche had long since discovered during their exchanges that the phantom seemed to be accommodating him.
Once it noticed his intent, the phantom spontaneously reduced its power, executing only a Great Success-level Thunderclap Saber Art to apply pressure without crushing him.
Under such conditions, the proficiency of Liu Yunche's Thunderclap