The sword, broken into more than a dozen pieces, fell from midair, clinking like a metal instrument in the silent corridor.
Zhang Linghuo raised his head numbly and looked at Ding Hun in disbelief, seemingly unable to accept what had happened.
That was a Third-Grade Dharma Treasure. Though it was hardly some peerless rarity, it was as hard as iron and stone, yet the man before him had snapped it effortlessly with just two fingers...
Ding Hun looked down at him impassively and slowly raised his left palm, making the surrounding space distort with strange ripples.
Bang!
With that palm strike, the stunned Zhang Linghuo felt as though a mountain had slammed into him. He flew backward, smashing through several corridor pillars carved with dragons and phoenixes before crashing to the ground.
The pillars shattered, dust billowed, and tiles came crashing off the corridor roof, pelting Zhang Linghuo like a torrential downpour.
He lay facedown, bearing the debris on his back. Only after pushing with his arms twice did he grit his teeth and slowly rise.
Pfft!
He had barely pushed himself halfway up when blood burst uncontrollably from his mouth.
Zhang Linghuo raised his head, his eyes bloodshot and vacant, and looked toward the front of the corridor. Ding Hun was walking toward him unhurriedly, stopping five paces away.
In the dim corridor, amid the slowly drifting dust, the young man in black robes stood tall, looking down at him like a god regarding an ant.
There was not a trace of star source fluctuation around him, yet with physical strength alone, he had broken the sword with two fingers and shattered all Zhang Linghuo's "pride" with a single palm strike.
At that moment, the pressure Ding Hun exerted on Zhang Linghuo was no less than that of the