The crowd gasped.
Yu Xuan felt the sudden danger behind him.
Without hesitation, he channeled Qi into his legs and burst upward, narrowly evading the deadly blade.
As he soared past Han Mao, he twisted mid air like a dancer and extended his leg, delivering a powerful aerial kick right to Han Mao's right shoulder — the one gripping the scythe.
Crack!
A dull thud echoed across the stage.
Han Mao winced, his grip faltering as pain shot down his arm. The scythe trembled in his hands, the momentum of his swing interrupted.
Yu Xuan landed gracefully a few feet away, his expression calm, eyes sharp. The crowd was erupting now.
"Did you see that dodge?"
"He just kicked the arm with weapon! That's some precision!"
"He's forcing a mid range fighter into close combat. That's textbook pressure play!"
Han Mao's expression twisted. This bastard… he's not just strong, he's methodical. Blood surged through his veins as he steadied his breath.
This wasn't going to be easy.
