The fight had entered a stalemate.
After Feng Ma had praised Zhao Luo, they had clashed five times in total.
In those five clashes, more than a thousand exchanges were made between Feng Ma who used his limbs or wine, and Zhao Luo's swords, that is, Ifrit and Blackey.
After the five clashes, both looked a little tired but they weren't out of breath.
The sweat was hidden by the rain with which their robes were drenched.
"Brother, I must admit you have a lot of stamina."
Feng Ma said to Zhao Luo with a grin on his face and even though it was supposed to be a compliment to Zhao Luo, it felt even worse than an insult.
'Kya~'
Multiple female disciples and some weird male disciple (cu-?) screamed in pleasure as they followed the gaze of Feng Ma.
"Where are you looking at?"
Zhao Luo shouted as he realized what was going on.
Feng Ma was staring at the place where Zhao Luo's third leg was hiding.
