"Boom!"
"Boom!"
"Boom!"
...
Two Seven-Colored Long Swords clashed continuously, their speed surpassing the limits of the naked eye. All that could be seen were countless flashes of Seven-Colored Light, overwhelming the sky.
Thunder Shock resounded incessantly.
The gusts grew increasingly fierce.
The barren peak began to scatter stone and soil, large rocks were sliced and crushed, turned to dust and swept away by the wind.
Within a few breaths, the peak lost a layer, as if part of a snow-covered mountain had melted away.
Chu Zhiyuan suddenly stopped his sword, and shouted, "Master Ancestor, let's stop."
Wang Miaoqiao halted his sword midair, the Seven-Colored Long Sword swiftly retracting.
Until it contracted into his palm, transforming into a flashing pattern of a Seven-Colored small sword.
The light from the small sword pattern began to burrow under his skin, gradually dimming, finally disappearing into his flesh.
Chu Zhiyuan praised, "What a Spiritual Artifact!"
