The surrounding area was unrecognizable. The ground had been carved up by Sword Qi, leaving a crisscrossing network of deep gullies. The deepest of them were several feet deep.
Shattered rocks were swept up, only to be pulverized into dust mid-air by the lingering Sword Qi.
The pine forest to one side had fared even worse. Pine trees as thick as bowls were snapped in half at the trunk. Broken branches and leaves danced through the air before being ignited by the scorching wind from the swords and turning to ash.
Two figures flickered rapidly across the ravaged battlefield, one cyan and one crimson, like two bolts of intertwining lightning.
Every clash was accompanied by a world-shaking roar, and every time they broke apart, a new gash was left in the earth.
Meng Zhao's sword grew increasingly fierce.
The crimson longsword in his hand transformed into searing ribbons of light, slashing at Fang Han from all sorts of difficult angles.
