The stage was set.
Young Master Shang's posture was relaxed and unrestrained, holding his sword before him with Wei Wuyin's image overplayed with its edge, and while he exuded a downright tyrannically torrential presence of Mystic Aura, the man himself seemed as free as a drunken immortal drifting across the clouds with light steps.
The Soul Saint King's pupils constricted with a honed intensity laced with a disbelieving light shining through desperately. Others might not notice, but he keenly felt that Young Master Shang's entire body had been overlaid with several formidable spiritual arts. In the eyes of an Earthly Saint's Spiritual Sense, he seemed like a bellowing geyser of Sword Intent.
