The air in the grand hall quivered with the sound of clashing steel. Every swing, every parry sent a shockwave that rippled through the air and made the lanterns flicker above. The servants had long since retreated to the edges, their faces pale, their breaths short. The disciples of the Sword Shandian Sect stood with mouths half open, unable to believe what they were seeing.
Han Zukong's sword blurred like a streak of silver light. He struck again and again, his expression filled with fierce delight. His laughter echoed between the columns. "Come on, little brother! What's wrong? You were moving faster a moment ago!"
Han Zhanjian's hands were trembling. Each impact sent a violent tremor through his arms, and his lungs burned with each breath. He could still see his brother's attacks through his Sword Eyes, but now, every movement looked wrong. His instincts screamed one thing, his vision another. The two clashed, tearing his concentration apart.
