Although Cheng Yidao had not yet made his move, Zheng Ming was already enveloped by the momentum of Cheng Yidao's sword.
A cold, oppressive force, like a mountain range, weighed heavily on Zheng Ming's heart.
Zheng Ming's fighting spirit soared in this moment. His grip on the Fire Dragon Spear in his hand tightened, and his eyes stared, electric, at the Wind-cutting Sword that was about to fall.
The sound of the stone lions shattering rose simultaneously from beneath the feet of both Zheng Ming and Cheng Yidao, forming a network of cracks that made the two massive stone lions seem as though they might crumble at any moment.
Cheng Yidao, Zheng Ming!
All eyes were fixed on these two youths in that moment, as if in the world, only they existed.
Ten breaths, a hundred breaths, a quarter of an hour...
Cheng Yidao did not immediately strike with his sword, but in the eyes of all, Cheng Yidao's lack of action was more fearsome than if he had already struck.
