The crowd stood silently, their robes fluttering, eyes fixed intently on the battlefield.
In the arena, as ripples of air spread and gradually dissipated, calm began to return.
Under the watchful gaze of the spectators, Wyatt Barnes, clad in a violet robe, trembled his arms and took two steps back before steadying himself, his face slightly flushed.
On the other hand, Sail Fenning retracted his greatsword with a tremor, his complexion alternating between pale and green, yet his feet remained firmly planted.
Of course, not many noticed the differences in their expressions.
Most were focused solely on their actions.
"Sail Fenning has the upper hand!"
"Hmph! Facing Sail Fenning's greatsword without using a Saint artifact—it's sheer recklessness."
"This exchange makes it clear—my idol Sail Fenning is undoubtedly stronger!"
...
Many outer sect disciples gazed passionately at Sail Fenning, discussing fervently.
These outer sect disciples were blind admirers of Sail Fenning.
