Han Zukong took a long, steady breath as he raised his blade once more. The crowd had gone quiet, watching with bated breath. The flicker of torchlight gleamed along the edge of his sword, and for a moment, his eyes were sharp, cold, and unwavering.
Then, he moved.
The first step was silent, but the second came with a sharp crack of wind. His sword flashed like a streak of silver lightning, cutting the air with frightening precision. Han Zhanjian lifted his blade just in time to parry, the clang echoing through the hall like thunder.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
The sound of their blades filled the entire place, rapid and unending, until it seemed like a storm of steel had descended upon the Han Family Hall. Each strike came faster than the last. Each parry came with heavier pressure. Sparks scattered, dancing in the air like fireflies before dying in the cold wind.
