And then suddenly, something flowed smoothly.
His sword strikes had been getting shorter and the time between them, longer... And so at this moment, "breathing" suddenly had no endpoint.
With one step ascended, the concept of "move qi" lost its meaning on the youth's sword, even as he was within Quail Head; the myriad of sword lights in front of him suddenly became slow and clear.
When Ming Qi Tian said he had stepped into the "clumsy" realm, he felt nothing, but when he set foot into the "Spirit" realm, the sensation of shedding his mortal shell and transforming was so distinct.
Moves are but consecutive sword movements, so why should there be such a clear division between them?
165 swords remained, their cold light pressing close and threatening the throat.
Pei Ye looked at them and loosely re-gripped his sword hilt—this was the desperately fought-for time to breathe.
