All night long, Huangquan Slope was immersed in the collision produced by this battle of wills.
The world spun, sun and moon lost their light.
In a snowfield far beyond imagination, already, the heavens had collapsed and the earth had cracked.
Wild Samurai and Broken Monk.
They laughed heartily, immersed in blood and battle, full of sincere prayers, grateful for meeting each other and this exhilarating fight.
On the Sword Saint's withered face, a clear fist imprint appeared.
And on Luo Lao's shell, sword scars crisscrossed, like a net.
Once, again, once more...
Countless times.
They closed their eyes, dreaming of the beauty when they met each other.
Smile.
Until the dawn sunlight fell.
The burly old man turned back, looking at his opponent beside him: "Satisfied, Shangquan?"
The old man let out a sharp laugh, allowing himself to wipe saliva from the corner of his mouth, eyes shimmering with a terrifying fire, so dazzling.
