On the raised platform, Sui Zaihua said, "The outcome-"
Pei Ye abruptly released his sword and advanced again, planting a foot on Shang Huaitong, who had just slipped out from under him. Chi Flame surged into him, but the next instant, that teacup pressed against Pei Ye's chest again, forcing him away.
"-is decided." Sui Zaihua's tone had noticeably stiffened.
On the arena, Pei Ye gazed impassively at the man lying on the ground, eyes bulging, mouth stretched wide in soundless agony, and shook his blade with a ringing clang.
Shang Huaitong's entire right arm had turned blood-red.
The entire venue fell silent.
Only now did the domain that had enveloped a hundred yards fade from the sky. White clouds hung high above, sunlight shone brightly, and a light breeze combed over faces and hair. It was an ordinary autumn afternoon; the breathtaking marvels just now seemed like a dream.
Countless people watched the two figures on the stage, one standing and one lying down, so quiet that none of them moved.
The man curled up on the ground clutching his arm, his sword discarded, his cloak scattered, his face ravaged and hair disheveled, no longer able to rise; the green-clad figure stood with sword in hand, blood still staining his lapels, yet the boy stood straight as slender bamboo.
Everyone recalled all that had just happened.
Shang Huaitong had unleashed a true sword of Intent. The now-complete Nether Growth Realm had shown everyone its true power, that irresistible withering of all things together almost stripping them of the will to resist. And all of it had come crashing down upon the tottering boy.
It should have been the finish.
Having lost face twice, Young Master Shang should have reclaimed his strength and poise with that sword.
Yet the vast