"Hm… his attainments on the path of Sword Dao are decent."
Lin Huang's voice was calm, almost thoughtful, as his eyes traced the rotating storm of blades.
A thousand swords hovered in the air, spinning like vigilant sentinels. Each blade trembled faintly, not from instability, but from restrained violence. Sword intent leaked from their edges in invisible waves, slicing across the arena and scraping against the skin like cold wind. Even breathing felt sharper here, as if the air itself had turned into thin blades.
Lin Huang could see it clearly.
Each sword carried power comparable to a Nascent Soul cultivator.
Not an illusion.
Not a trick.
A thousand Nascent Soul-level forces, synchronized into a single killing formation.
If unleashed, the arena would not merely become a battlefield—it would become a slaughterhouse.
For anyone else, the sight alone would have crushed their spirit. Knees would have buckled. Hearts would have frozen in terror.
