He turned.
The kick caught him in the thigh. The impact — heavy, powerful, delivered with the full weight of a thick, muscular leg — sent him flying. His body hit a tree. The trunk cracked. His back screamed. His vision blurred.
He slid down the trunk. His hand found his sword — the plain blade, the unadorned steel — and he raised it.
His eyes found her.
She was standing between the trees. Fifteen feet away. Breathing hard. Her body — thick, full-figured, the kind of frame that a sword cultivator's qi rounded rather than slimmed — was barely covered.
A bikini-style outfit. A short bra — dark fabric, straining against her heavy breasts, the tops of her areolas visible above the cups.
