In that half-beat, Bing Yekong's second wave of attacks had already shifted toward the level eighty-three Soul Douluo.
That Soul Douluo's martial soul was a massive shield. Its defensive power was astonishing, but he was slow.
Bing Yekong did not charge head-on. Instead, he feinted with his sword, baiting him into raising his shield to block. Then he circled to the man's side, and the Tianshuang Sword stabbed in from beside the shield, its tip piercing through his ribs and emerging from the other side.
The second.
The stands went mad.
Bing Yekong did not stop. The instant he pulled out his sword, he lunged forward to meet the level ninety-one Titled Douluo wielding a short spear.
The short spear thrust toward him, its tip wrapped in a layer of dark red Soul Power and carrying a piercing whistle through the air.
Bing Yekong did not dodge. He held the Tianshuang Sword upright before him, and the blade collided with the spear tip. The immense impact plowed two furrows into the ground beneath his feet, but he used the force to retreat and swept out with his sword. The icy-blue sword light forced another Soul Douluo, who had been preparing a sneak attack from the side, back three steps.
Three exchanges, two killed, one forced back.
But there was a price. A dull ache shot through Bing Yekong's right arm. He had just taken a Titled Douluo's full-force spear strike head-on, and even his bones groaned under the strain.
The web of his hand split open again, blood running down the hilt and dripping onto the rough stone of the arena.
He flicked the blood from his hand and raised his head.
The remaining six had already adjusted their positions, forming a semicircle and pinning him into one corner of