Clang!
Clang!
The sound of weapons clashing was deafening!
Blades collided, sparks flew everywhere!
Huff—
Huff—
Two breaths came rapidly, their eyes met, and there was a murderous intent gushing from their fierce eyes.
Feng Qingshui grimaced, gripping the sword hilt with both hands, using all his strength to push the opponent away.
The opponent flew backward, tracing an arc in the air, and landed heavily on the ground, right where he charged from.
Feng Qingshui also staggered back two or three steps, almost losing balance until he steadied himself by stabbing the sword into the ground.
At that moment.
He was covered in blood, as if just emerging from a massacre in purgatory. But this was only the beginning; the blood on him was from old wounds reopening, gushing out from cracked injuries.
Yet he still protected Mo Ningxiang behind him, glaring fiercely at the soldiers blocking the way ahead.
