"You?"
Upon hearing the excited voice by his ear, Wang Dong widened his odd eyes, his heart in shock.
Poof!
Wang Dong suddenly spat a mouthful of blood.
He felt as if a thousand-pound rock was pressing down on his chest, with his Qi-Blood like boiling steam, forcefully pushing against his throat and the roof of his mouth, spewing out.
The blood was then frozen by the cold air, turning into a red blood mist.
But Wang Dong had no time to observe, only catching sight of the iron fist that had landed on his chest already being withdrawn.
With his martial cultivation at the Condensed Yuan third grade, he was no weak hand. His muscle reflex forced him to drag his saber back, hoping to slice a path of survival with its sharp edge.
But he overestimated his body's endurance and reaction speed while underestimating Lin Yuan's swift movement technique.
"You struck me once, I'll let you take a strike as well."
The excited voice sounded in Wang Dong's ear.
