On the ice field, the wind and snow grew fiercer, snowflakes as thick as goose feathers densely interwoven, like a white curtain hanging between heaven and earth.
Qin Tian and Zhuang Xian stood over thirty meters apart, their invisible domains keeping the howling wind and snow at bay.
In Qin Tian's hand, Black Frost pointed slantwise to the ground, with a faint purple lightning slowly flowing along the blade, the sword intent restrained and solemn; Zhuang Xian, on the other hand, gripped an ancient long sword, his sharp eyes locked tightly onto Qin Tian.
Zhuang Xian spoke first, his tone slightly low: "General Qin, I apologize in advance."
As he spoke, the wind spiritual energy around him subtly fluctuated, and an oppressive force belonging to a Tier Eight spiritualist quietly spread out.
Qin Tian slightly nodded, a calm and gentle smile appearing at the corner of his mouth:
"Elder Zhuang, please."
