Bang! Bang! Bang!...
That figure's feet were like an out-of-control plow, crazily gouging out two alarming deep grooves on the arena, scattering gravel!
Until it collided with the force field at the edge of the arena.
Making a dull, heavy thud.
The force field rippled violently, forcibly bouncing that figure back, staggering a few steps before barely regaining balance.
It's Chen Mo!
His face pale, with a strand of fresh blood at the corner of his mouth.
The tiger's mouth of his right hand, which gripped the longsword, was cracked, blood dripping along the hilt.
The seemingly simple longsword was now covered with fine cracks, the blade trembling slightly, emitting a low wail.
His eyes looked towards the dust-filled center of the arena.
Full of extreme shock and disbelief.
The dust slowly cleared away.
Fang Qingyu's figure emerged clearly.
