Back on the Bowang Arena, he and Shang Huaitong had fought desperately for this space to launch their moves, precisely because, later on, whoever had to "catch his breath" first would be unable to keep parrying. His nimble swordsmanship had won him that contest, but now he was the one feeling his swordsmanship suffocate.
The sword light came without end, and every stroke was so powerful that he could barely turn its force to his advantage. Every parry tore a savage mouthful from his "breath of technique." However agile Pei Ye's sword, he could not possibly receive more than two hundred blades in a single breath.
So, while he still had room to spare, Black Chi held a sword in its mouth and barely blocked a blow for him, and Pei Ye raised his sword to attack again.
But a white sword mark immediately slashed across Black Chi's body.
Black Chi's current strength fell short of his. It could not withstand swords like these at all; if it wanted to play any part in this clash of blades, it could only endure them with its body.
Pei Ye had never felt that "two hundred" was such an endlessly distant number. After several breaths, he had broken through only thirty or forty swords, while a streak of white brilliance had already swept across Black Chi, scattering its scales and sending scarlet blood flying.
Black Chi's jade eyes remained unruffled as it moved to open up more space. Pei Ye caught hold of it, gritted his teeth, and drove his sword forward, trading a bloody gash in his thigh for his next breath.
Meanwhile, without the support of his full concentration, Glaze's moves abruptly loosened as well, defending more than attacking. The pressure on Qu Zhu visibly eased. Mysterious lines had begun