In Mo Lin's vision, the edge of his sword turned pitch black.
There was no longer any sense of distance.
No space.
No separation.
In that instant, Yu Xuan stood right before him, as if the Heavens itself had folded so that the slash would land no matter what.
This was not speed.
This was Horizon — the moment where everything in front of the sword ceased to exist.
At the same time, in Yu Xuan's vision turned monochrome, the world drained of color.
Just black and white.
Mo Lin's slash was no longer a movement, it was an inevitability, a single decisive line cutting through everything in its path.
Yu Xuan did not dodge.
He did not retreat.
He simply willed his sword.
And slashed.
Red intent erupted, violent and domineering.
Black intent followed, silent and absolute.
The two collided.
There was no sound at first.
Then—
RRRRRIP—!
Space itself shredded.
