Nangong Linjue's face had already turned as dark as the bottom of a pot, and he clenched his fists tightly, the light in his eyes cold and piercing.
Even Duan Bingye, who had never considered Lin Feng a worthy opponent, now had a cold expression on her face. A chill emanated from her body, turning the moisture in the air to ice particles, which fell to the ground.
In the distance, in the pavilion, the Sixth Prince, whose face had always been as impassive as an ancient well, showed a flicker of emotion for the first time.
A faint gleam of sharpness flashed through his captivating eyes.
Lin Feng stepped down from the Battle Platform.
It was quite a while before the Steward, who was in charge of the competition, announced the continuation of the matches with an odd expression on his face.
Not only did the Steward have an odd look, but many of the disciples did too.
Any disciple from the Dynasty who faced Lin Feng was, without exception, killed.
