Atop a solitary mountain peak.
Shi Xiaole's long sword moved, and in a moment, everywhere was filled with white, dense sword lights, forming a sea of swords that vibrated at high speed. But within this sea of swords, there was another sword moving towards the front with an extremely slow speed.
The overlapping of fast and slow was so unsettling that it made one's scalp tingle and spirit feel disordered.
In the end, Shi Xiaole underestimated his own comprehension. He had thought that it would take him half a year to a year to grasp this move. But now, in just a month, he had understood it to about seventy percent.
At this rate, in no more than half a year, he would be able to perfect this move.
As the sea of swords disappeared, the ground two hundred paces in front of Shi Xiaole suddenly sank three zhang, with a cross-section smooth as a mirror, looking like a concave square platform.
