The dress sword thrust was not seen. It was heard as a high-pitched sonic hiss that split the freezing drizzle into two spray curtains.
Before the referee’s flags had touched the flat stone slabs, Xie Lingfeng had crossed eight paces of cedar sawdust. His white satin robes dissolved into a blur of pale light, propelled by the elite footwork of the Azure Cloud Sect.
His right wrist shook at transonic hum, unleashing the old family sword technique of the Marquis House: The Autumn Water Nine-Fold Cascade.
In less than a single second, nine distinct thrusts tore through the freezing air.
The first aimed for Pei Jing’s left pupil. The second and third targeted the bilateral neck-artery sinuses. The fourth drove toward the apex of the chest bone. The fifth through eighth formed a diamond pattern targeting the liver, spleen, and both thigh triangles. The ninth was a delayed, lethal snap designed to pierce the subclavian artery behind the collarbone.
Each thrust was a packed beam of cold-iron driving force. It carried forty meters per second of piercing speed. To the ten thousand spectators in the stands, Xie Lingfeng appeared to have summoned nine silver ghosts at the same time, encircling the southern commoner in a cage of shrieking needles.
