He knew better than anyone just how much the boy before him was now a guttering candle in the wind.
Just one thrust of his spear, and he would never rise again.
Yu Sicheng was not nervous. He had long since forged a heart cold and hard amid life and death, but he did devote every ounce of his concentration to this. He knew the boy excelled most at these exchanges where a single move decided life or death. He felt no shame in committing all his strength to defense, just as he had attacked with reckless abandon before. Victory alone was the true finish line.
Yu Sicheng planted a step twenty feet behind Pei Ye. This was the distance at which his spear reached farthest, its force extending all the way to the tip. At the same time, Pei Ye thrust his sword backward from beneath his right ribs and turned, avoiding the spearhead and advancing his sword ten feet.
Yu Sicheng swung his spear down diagonally. It swept through the space before him, almost impossible to evade. Every time before, Pei Ye had spat blood before this strike.
But this time, the boy swayed, leaning back close to the ground, and avoided it at an angle both exceedingly tricky and exceedingly apt-he had assumed this posture a fraction before Yu Sicheng even struck.
Following his body's stagger, he twisted his step and closed in, advancing his sword another five feet as he thrust.
Yu Sicheng jabbed back with the butt of his spear while clenching his left fist. Pei Ye was just straightening from his low posture, his Sword Body tracing a beautiful arc. It first severed Yu Sicheng's left elbow joint, and mercury vapor burst out. The wind of the punch streaked past the side of his