The most unnerving moments are always when you can't gauge an opponent's true depth.
After that direct clash, he had finally gotten a measure of Yang Jing's capabilities. While his opponent's strength was about what he had expected—certainly troublesome—Ma Guoliang finally felt he had a handle on the situation.
Yang Jing was certainly not weak, but that was the extent of it.
This battle would take some extra effort, but Ma Guoliang was now completely confident he could defeat him.
At this thought, the hesitation in Ma Guoliang's eyes vanished, replaced by a chilling battle lust.
He took a deep breath, snapped his greatspear horizontal, and then his footwork shifted. His figure moved like a phantom as he launched a fierce assault on Yang Jing.
The spear's afterimages danced like a raging squall, its tip glinting with a frigid light as every thrust aimed for Yang Jing's vital points.
