"Benefactor..."
Lu Yuzheng swallowed the words that had reached his lips.
A moment ago, he simply could not understand how they could meet again even here, but now, however foolish he might be, he knew this man was anything but ordinary.
One man, one sword, facing thousands of troops—even a single glimpse of such a sight set the heart surging.
Yet he knew his own limits well. Even with his heart pounding, he did not forget to push hard against the gate pivot. This was not a battle he could meddle in.
The white robes beneath the dark clouds were both a speck of snow amid a torrent and a stroke of white upon an ink-wash scroll.
"Rumble!"
An immense wave of sound swept over him in an instant.
Holding Spirit Oak, Jiang Yang slowly raised it across his body. Countless emotions seemed to surge in his chest, making his temples throb, yet he merely gazed straight ahead, his face as calm as a still lake.
"This is... arrogance!"
"Utter stupidity!"
"He's courting death."
"Heh, this is interesting..."
At that moment, some shook their heads, some laughed, some looked astonished, and many more whispered among themselves. But there was no denying that countless eyes had all converged on him.
"Clang!"
White light flashed in an instant.
With nothing more than a simple, gentle sweep, the cries of slaughter abruptly ceased.
Like a blade drawn to sever water, the torrent charging toward the Pass Gate was forcibly cut off by a single sword stroke.
The fanatical expressions had yet to fade from the faces of the foremost Wu Soldiers when they toppled uncontrollably to the ground. The force whose battle cries had filled the sky a moment before suddenly fell utterly silent, mouths hanging open.
Only after three full breaths, when