But his preemptive strike, still resolute on its original trajectory, stabbed slowly and firmly through what felt like air as dense as an iron plate.
With every inch he advanced, Feng Han's complexion grew rosier, his sweat poured like syrup, and his kneeling body trembled incessantly, with both spirit and body under immense pressure.
This stab was extremely precise, without the slightest deviation or change in angle, targeting the side of the golden knife wielded by Jiang Dali as it descended.
It looked as though Jiang Dali's furious slash had been predicted in its path, and even the flaws and opportunities within that strike were seen through.
Clang—a loud explosion!
The moment his blade touched the side of the golden knife.
The golden knife deflected, passing by.
A strand of hair floated through the air.
Feng Han's body reacted as if struck by lightning, his arm throbbing in pain, the treasure sword Heavenly Weapon slipping from his bones, flying out of his grasp.
