Each spear pulsed with a rhythm, a heartbeat. And with every beat, fragments of spear dao whispered into him—stances, thrusts, sweeps, the sharp edge of victory and the crushing weight of failure.
The air was heavy, metallic, every breath sharp enough to cut his lungs. Tian Lei's fingers tightened on his spear as the plain itself trembled.
Then—
KRAAANG!
One spear tore free from the metallic earth, rising high, its edge blinding beneath the golden sun. It hovered above him, its aura vast and merciless, like the decree of heaven itself. When it fell, it was not like a weapon—it was like an entire world of spears collapsing onto him.
The pressure slammed into his body. His bones groaned, his blood churned. But Tian Lei stood firm. His stance was steady, his breathing unbroken.
He lifted his spear and thrust.
