At that moment, Wu Changkong lightly flicked his Heavenly Frost Sword upward from where it pointed diagonally toward the ground.
The movement looked as calm as ever, without anything that could even be called earth-shaking momentum. Judging by appearances alone, it was the simplest of sword strokes. At least in that first instant, Tang Wulin had not truly seen what made it so terrifying.
But the instant the tip of the Heavenly Frost Sword touched Guang Biao's fist—
Tang Wulin distinctly heard what sounded like an utterly grief-stricken dragon's roar suddenly ringing out deep in his mind.
The sound came without warning, yet its clarity was frightening.
Then came a second roar, and a third, one after another.
As the scales on Guang Biao's fist were flicked away one by one, the pain in those roars grew clearer and sharper, shaking Tang Wulin to his core until he almost felt as though he were suffering it himself.
He seemed able to "see"—
Those streams of bitterly cold sword energy slipping through the gaps in the scales, piercing flesh, piercing meridians, and even piercing the depths of the Martial Soul.
The wound was not to the fist.
It seemed to strike directly at that "dragon" itself.
And at that very moment, something else suddenly emerged from even deeper within Tang Wulin's mind.
Or rather, it was not a sound.
It was an emotion.
A fury forcibly suppressed in the deepest recesses, only to surge violently upward in that instant.
A burning sensation appeared with it.
It was not as intense as when the Light Dragon Dagger had wounded him, nor did it actually cause the Golden Scales to appear. It vanished in a flash, but even that brief instant was enough to make Tang Wulin's heart tighten.
This was no longer