"You little prick, stop dodging if you've got the balls! Stand still and fight me fair and square, out in the open!
If you dare face me head-on, I swear I won't poke you full of holes!"
Yang Fanyuan's rage bristled to the heavens as he roared at the top of his lungs, his voice hoarse with exertion.
He mustered every last ounce of strength, whipping his spear around with the ferocity of a prowling tiger. Its tip traced vicious arcs through the air, raising whistles that seemed to tear the air itself apart.
Yet despite all his desperate effort, he could not land so much as a scratch on his fox-cunning opponent, Ying Ming Hao.
Every time his spear seemed about to pierce a vital spot, it fell just a little short at the last instant. At most, he could only graze the hem of Ying Ming Hao's clothes.
"Screw you, you idiot! If you're so capable, why don't you dodge and weave as nimbly as I do?
Look at how clumsy you are. You're a damned joke!
Let me tell you, only cowards and useless trash would stand there like idiots waiting to die!"
A contemptuous smile curled Ying Ming Hao's lips as he fired back without mercy.
He knew perfectly well that his exquisite footwork was the only reason he could handle this battle with such ease.
If he actually listened to Yang Fanyuan's nonsense and obediently stood still, wouldn't he become a lamb waiting to be slaughtered?
And so, the two traded insults while engaging in a heart-stopping battle of attrition.
They exchanged blow after blow, sword shadows flashing and fists and palms crossing, neither able to gain the upper hand.
The fierce battle lasted hundreds of exchanges, yet neither suffered even a minor injury.