"You lost!"
Xiao Yi stood with his sword, his face thick with mockery as he stared at Zhou Yuan, who had retreated dozens of yards away.
A whirlwind swept up, scattering the flying sand.
The web-like cracks spread far and wide, along with that horrendous ten-yard-long sword mark, made all the mighty onlookers silent as cicadas in winter, not daring to make the slightest sound.
Yue Cang was utterly dumbfounded, "Tha—That sword just now…"
To be fair,
if that sword had landed on him, he would have been dead without a doubt.
Before this…
Yue Cang still thought that he was worthy of a battle with Xiao Yi, but that sword had just driven him to despair, and he self-deprecatingly said, "I actually thought I could fight him? With Xiao Yi's strength now, even Gai Qinglong, the number one in the ten nations of Nanhuang, wouldn't be his match, right?"
