One Cry of Fellow Daoist, Speaking All the Vicissitudes

"Mo Fan was far too overconfident. If he had come up fully on guard from the start, he absolutely would not be this passive."

After seeing the situation on the stage clearly, Bai Fasheng shook his head slightly, his expression rather disappointed.

In terms of sword cultivation alone, the two were only about equal, yet Mo Fan had lost the initiative in agony because he underestimated his opponent. It truly made one sigh with regret.

"A lion fighting a rabbit must still use its full strength. I hope that after this defeat, he can gain some understanding."

Jian Wushuang spoke slowly. When his gaze fell on Shen Jian'an, a trace of appreciation rose in his eyes. "This boy draws his sword decisively, his attacks are fierce, and even more rare is that his sword intent can be released and withdrawn at will. His future is limitless."

As soon as these words were spoken, all the seated elders nodded in agreement.

A sword was a weapon of killing and conquest. One who could control killing intent without losing his original heart could be called a true swordsman.

Shen Jian'an had clearly already glimpsed this realm, rather than being a hollow showpiece with sword intent who was instead controlled by killing aura.

Amid the discussions, Shen Yun suddenly lifted his eyelids slightly and murmured, "After three moves, victory and defeat will be decided."

On the arena, the surging smoke and dust gradually dispersed.

Mo Fan's figure looked somewhat wretched, his long hair scattered loose. The web between the thumb and forefinger of the hand holding his sword had already split open, oozing streaks of blood.

On the other side, sword qi around Shen Jian'an's body was like spring silkworms spinning silk, flowing without end, his attacks growing more and more free