But Wuxie barely shifted. He tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes following the movements with lazy precision, as though the onslaught were merely a passing breeze. With a single flick of his wrist, the DreadBlade rose, black steel meeting silver light. Sparks erupted, sharp and crackling, the sound like distant thunder rolling over the arena. Dust stirred at their feet, tiny tremors vibrating through the marble as the force of the clash reverberated outward.
Chen pressed forward, relentless. Each strike was faster than the last, a storm of polished steel flashing in every direction. The crowd gasped again, some leaning forward as though they could reach out and feel the sword's path, others flinching at the power behind each swing. Yet every blow met the black edge of the DreadBlade and was redirected, turned aside with effortless precision.
