In the previous attempts, he had always built up momentum for a long time, but this time, in a flash, he shot the short spear from his hand, like a lightning strike. After all, he was one of the seven sect disciples, and this move was close to the Fourth Rank level. Behind him, dozens of disciples from the Flying Spirit Sect uniformly shot short spears taken from their backs.
The sound of breaking through the air was continuous, and in an instant, it sounded like a hundred lightning strikes falling. Wang Anfeng flicked the fishing line in his hand, Sword Qi like silk and thread, like three thousand strands of worry, like the thousand knots in a girl's heart, trapping each flying spear in mid-air, making it difficult to advance.
The thirty-four-zhang Flying Flood Dragon ship pushed aside the waves, aiming the Golden Tiger Colliding Horns at the small boat to crash into it, with a fierce momentum intending to crush them all into the ocean.
