At that moment, the entire arena grew fiercely tense, the spectators' cheers shaking the heavens, each wave louder than the last.
These people seemed especially keen on watching such hair-raising, bloody, brutal battles. They cared little whether the two men lived or died, bellowing at the tops of their lungs:
"Come on, hack Lin Zhimu to death!"
"Put your back into it! Stab Qin An to death!"
The cries for blood rose and fell, intertwining like a stirring, thunderous symphony that echoed through the air long afterward.
Lin Zhimu's eyes were bloodshot, like burning flames, revealing boundless fury and determination.
He gritted his teeth and clenched the sword hilt in his right hand, using every ounce of strength to twist the blade, widen the wound, and put Qin An to death.
Yet just as he was about to succeed, a powerful hand clamped onto the blade like iron pincers. No matter how hard he struggled, he could not budge it an inch.
That hand belonged to Qin An.
Though Qin An was also suffering tremendous pain, he endured the agony and held Lin Zhimu's sword in a death grip, turning his opponent's efforts into so much bursting foam.
Beneath his mask, Qin An's normally stern, resolute face was twisted by excruciating pain, cold sweat streaming down his forehead.
But he did not stop there. Instead, he tried to pull his saber free, preparing to deliver another vicious slash.
Unfortunately, things did not go as he wished. The instant he moved, Lin Zhimu noticed and swiftly raised his left hand, gripping the saber's spine tightly and giving Qin An no opening whatsoever.
And so a breathtaking, heart-stopping tug-of-war began!
Both fighters held fast to each other's blades, pulling backward with all their might, as though pouring every last ounce of