When the plain and clean sword glow rose from the forest in the southwest region of the Mausoleum of Books, Shang Xingzhou's right hand that had been hanging at his side moved.
He was prepared to grip his sword.
Wang Po's reaction was faster and more straightforward.
He gripped the hilt of his blade.
Shang Xingzhou was now in the same situation as Wang Po. If he moved, he would have to face those sword glows and Wang Po at the same time.
Just a moment ago, it was he that made it so that Wang Po could not move. The situation had now been reversed.
The sword glows continued to increase in number, densely filling the sky as they rose from various parts of the Mausoleum of Books.
The sword glows flying through the sky were dulled by the light of the sun, but their sword intents became more distinct. They formed flickering lines that wove together into a tight net.
The entirety of the rain of Sacred Light arrows crashed into the net of swords.
