One act ended, and another took the stage.
The arrival of the Little Martial Saint stirred the already turbulent scene into towering waves once more.
"It's him."
Ten-Step Yama's gaze was sharp as a blade leaving its sheath, pointing straight at the figure standing motionless in the void.
In the previous trial, he had swept across the Immortal Ancient Battlefield, invincible wherever he went. Yet just as he was about to reach the summit, the Little Martial Saint had cut off his path, forcing him to settle for second place in the end.
Such a record was enough to make him stand above the heroes. How many people could exhaust their entire lives and still fail to approach it?
Yet to Ten-Step Yama, the word "second" was a brand burned into his soul, reminding him every moment that he had once been defeated by the Little Martial Saint.
Over the years, he had cultivated day and night without the slightest slackening, all for the sake of washing away the shame of that year.
But at the very moment he saw his opponent, his tightly clenched fists silently loosened.
"I... am not his match."
When experts looked at each other, they could discern the truth and falsehood with a single glance.
That imposing figure, steady as a deep pool and towering as a mountain, gave him an unshakable feeling merely by standing there.
Clearly, the gap between them had not narrowed. Instead, as time flowed on, it had already reached a height difficult to aspire to.
As for the other spectators in the arena, they did not possess Ten-Step Yama's eyesight.
In their perception, the Little Martial Saint was like a mass of fog. Though he was clearly within arm's reach, he seemed separated by ten thousand rivers and a