For this battle, Pan Long had changed his appearance beforehand.
The Nine-Turn Mysterious Art allowed him to control his body down to the smallest detail. He could not turn tall into short, fat into thin, or male into female, but changing his features was no great challenge.
Pan Long made himself a little taller and gave his face a rougher cast. He looked like a burly man in his thirties, moving with a tiger's commanding presence. He truly had the air of a righteous Hero.
Now, as he charged into the hall, every stride radiated authority. No one dared underestimate him.
The six Innate Masters felt the same. One look at Pan Long's bearing told them he was an expert. Greenwood habits needed no discussion: they attacked shoulder to shoulder.
There was only one enemy. They would hack him to death together!
The expert who rushed in first was young, around twenty-five or twenty-six. He held a strange saber with a blade about two feet long, two fingers wide, and slightly curved. At first glance, it looked much like an ordinary chopping blade, but it was less than half a fen thick—absurdly thin.
His saber technique was strange as well. He neither chopped nor stabbed, but merely drew the blade across at an angle, as if he meant to open a slit in Pan Long's body.
The stroke was neither fast nor far-reaching. By all appearances, he was asking for trouble. Yet Pan Long's expression changed. He abruptly shifted course, turning a forward charge into a sideways movement and evading the blade by a hair's breadth.
The edge brushed past him. Its piercing chill seeped into his flesh, leaving him faintly cold.
It really is the Cicada-Wing Saber!
During his days at the restaurant, Pan Long had heard many stories