After weathering that blow head-on, Xie Jinhuan knew old Kongkong had no fight left in him.
After all, Daoist Sword Cultivators belonged to a school devoted solely to killing, pursuing the principle of one sword breaking ten thousand arts. They alone could shatter a Buddhist golden body with a single strike at the same cultivation level.
But the price of unrivaled offensive power was pouring every resource into the flying sword. The wielder was no Martial Artist, but a fragile Daoist priest. If one strike could not break the opponent's defenses, all he could do was run.
Xie Jinhuan gave Daoist Kongkong no opening to exploit. He squeezed out his qi at any cost, drawing upon the power of heaven and earth. Illusory golden lotuses appeared around him once more, and he pressed forward in the form of a colossal coiled dragon:
Thud, thud, thud-
His immense size made the earth quake and the mountains shake as he ran, slowing him considerably from his normal speed. Yet he left no openings anywhere, shutting off any chance for Daoist Kongkong to counterattack.
Daoist Kongkong crooked a finger to recall his flying sword. Facing the coiled-dragon arhat bearing straight down on him, he truly felt the helplessness of a tiger with broken fangs confronting an iron tortoise.
But as an old hand who had roamed the Cultivation Dao for three sixty-year cycles, Daoist Kongkong only seemed weak among the Ten Under Heaven. To ordinary cultivators, he remained one of the Ten Directions Old Devils.
Faced with Xie Jinhuan's tactic of pitting strength against weakness, Daoist Kongkong lightly turned his wrist. His three-foot flying sword spun through the air, raising a tornado of sword qi that carved the riverbank into a spiral furrow.
Rumble-
Although this strike was much slower than the last,