He blocked it barely with his sword, skidding back.
So fast.
Tian Shen's hands blurred, taking his sword—he launched a fireball, followed by a slash. The arena filled with haze.
Lin Mo didn't flinch. His sword pulsed, releasing a wind slash that blew the smoke away like a gust through a paper screen.
But Tian Shen had already moved—appearing behind Lin Mo with a blazing palm, his sword resting.
Lin Mo spun around just in time to parry—but not the pill flame that followed. It singed his robes and forced him back two steps.
The crowd gasped.
"He actually pushed Senior Lin back?"
Lin Mo's expression sharpened.
"Impressive. Then I won't hold back."
Suddenly, the arena shivered—Lin Mo's sword flared with golden energy, and he pressed into his core: a half-formed realm of spiritual pressure.
Tian Shen gritted his teeth. His limbs felt like they were wading through molasses.
"I can't move too long in here…"
He focused inward.
Ignite.
