The setting sun dipped in the west, crimson clouds stretching on forever, swallowing up more than half the sky.
The cold wind was desolate.
It stirred the banners—on both sides of the arena, the huge flags bearing the character "War" stood in distant echo to the flashing blades and swords upon the stage.
Bang, bang, bang!
Sword-light shot up to the heavens, a biting aura exploding outward. Three figures were blasted up from the arena, thrown backward through the air, and finally slammed hard onto the ground opposite.
Li Ze stood on the arena, one hand holding a blood-dripping Longsword, body utterly still. Bathed in the gold of the setting sun, he looked like a War God descending from on high.
One man holds the pass, ten thousand men cannot break it.
And that was indeed the truth.
This was already Li Ze's thirteenth straight victory. Aside from an hour's break at noon for lunch, he had not stopped at all, continuously accepting wave after wave of challengers.
