The keen chill made Zheng Yichen's wrist feel as if it was being sawed at. The attack from the saber-carrying visitor left Zheng Yichen with no avenue for evasion, but he had no intention of dodging. His black spear thrust straight out.
Seeing Zheng Yichen fight so desperately, the saber-carrying visitor agilely flipped to avoid the thrusting long spear. However, the subtle pain alerted him that he hadn't fully evaded the attack and that in the instant he was wounded, he lost a significant amount of blood.
As he was the one initiating the attack, he was more flexible in changing his tactics. With his evasion, the blade shifted to slice at Zheng Yichen's shoulder. The moment the swift blade touched Zheng Yichen's cloak, he knew he had struck true.
Thanks to his precise control over the saber, he could distinctly feel the feedback from anything the blade touched—it had become instinct. The saber in his hand was an extension of his arm.
Clang—
