The returning sword slash had already strained the man, and the abrupt reversal of [Turning Arms] and the savage sword strike of [Seven Fires, Life Unbound] had followed in succession. He had utterly exhausted this opening.
The air had been drained dry, the digging had struck solid rock, and the spring could not be stretched another fraction.
Yet in this desperate impasse, with both sides fighting to the death, the boy produced another variation-another move of undiminished, extraordinary speed!
What looked to him like a dead end seemed, all along, to be a broad thoroughfare in the boy's eyes!
Shang Huaitong's teeth were already clenched tight. The suffocating sensation coming through his sword almost seemed to have truly gripped his lungs. Now, he really wanted to retreat.
He should not have used this strike here. It was not in its best condition; amid such confinement and haste, its power to smash through everything would be greatly diminished.
He should have retreated and unleashed it at leisure in the second exchange, securing an unquestionable victory.
But it was already too late.
Too close, too fast. The chill of the boy's blade was already about to reach his neck.
Shang Huaitong's face tightened like solid ice, a red tinge rising in his eyes as he stared at the boy like a tiger.
Then come on.
At least this is still enough to deal with you.
There was no need for a new move or variation.
It had existed within every preceding strike. With every move, the man had been building the same sword path.
The Weed-Pulling Chapter was a sword art brimming with killing intent. The man had designed and written its moves himself, but its principles of True Qi had come from the devoted instruction of Luo Defeng-the foremost figure in