In front of Lan Yuchun hovered an octagonal sword plate, shimmering with silver light. It spun and churned, its brilliance scattering chaotically. Hundreds of Flying Swords wove in and out, forcing Bao Dingheng's companions to the outer perimeter, leaving only him struggling bitterly under the Sword Array.
Bao Dingheng wielded merely two Dharma Swords. Despite his adept Swordsmanship unleashing waves of frosty glimmers to barely fend off the surging sword light, he knew deep down that once Lan Yuchun's Sword Array was deployed, without a method to counter or resist it, his defeat and demise were inevitable—only a matter of time.
Inwardly, he couldn't help but curse his overly protective martial uncle, who, even after expelling Lan Yuchun from the Mountain Gate, still allowed him to take this Magic Artifact. This was clearly intentional indulgence. If Bao Dingheng survived this ordeal, he swore to report this matter to his master.
