There was no telling when the boy would suffer a fatal blow. In the meantime, more and more flowers of blood were blooming on Zhang Zongyuan's body.
Once he shed every restraint, Yang Yan returned to the rhythm he knew best-fighting was supposed to set your heart pounding! Who had time to think so much?
Whatever I see, I strike. Who cares what's hidden behind it? When it reaches me, it'll be nothing more than another slash!
This was precisely the source of the anger that gradually made Zhang Zongyuan clench his teeth.
He could unleash countless killing moves and lay countless traps for the boy before him, and the boy would keep falling into them. Yet whenever a trap tightened, he would escape by the narrowest margin and return a viciously angled flash of his saber.
Dodging, swallowing, spitting back, trading wounds, risking his life. The boy's attacks came like a dense downpour, without method or plan. Like an agile, frenzied leopard, whether it would help or not, he seized viciously upon every opening.
The pressure in Zhang Zongyuan's heart gradually built to an unbearable degree, filling him with the stifling frustration of strength he could not bring to bear. Yet amid that frustration and anger, he instead forced himself to calm down.
He had always excelled at attacking like a bear or tiger, but when he discovered that he truly could not gain an advantage over a boy of a lower realm, he would not let anger cloud his mind.
His consistently cool head was what he relied upon most.
The boy opposite him now saw only the saber and staff before him, but Zhang Zongyuan still kept the whole picture in mind-if trading attacks could not win, he would simply try something else.
By now, he had