"Sir, what should we do?"
Nine-Winged Sudu asked in a low voice.
"Wait."
Li Yan ground out a single word through clenched teeth.
The fierce intent behind Sifan swiped towards Wushan's neck; behind Wushan, the banner flipped, and with a hand on the ground, he tumbled over the earth, the spot where his palm touched quickly being erased by a deathly pale color.
The splendor of four colors converged on Wushan's muscular forearm, and the colors swirling at the tip of his fist raised a sharp edge, piercing into Feng Yi's chest with a "putt."
Feng Yi's eyes flickered, not a single drop of blood on the wound, instead, drops of muddy yellow water fell.
"Sifan is not this man's original ability. It's with the Power of the Yellow River's Water God that he commands it so effortlessly."
Wushan
