Meng fought with a grace and fury that reminded Han Yu of their last encounter. Her sword danced through the fog, cutting down one disciple within the first minute. Her illusions flared, and her defensive footwork was impeccable. But the enemy wasn't ordinary.
Among them, a tall woman with fiery red eyes unleashed dual chakrams of spiritual steel—whirling weapons that slashed through trees and illusions alike. She was strong. Probably on the same level as Meng.
The fight dragged on.
Minutes passed. Trees fell. The ground was scorched. Blood sprayed in short bursts through the mist.
Meng was bleeding from her shoulder, her robes torn. One leg dragged slightly behind her. Yet her eyes remained blazing with defiance.
"You'll regret this," she spat, blocking a vicious downward strike with her forearm guard. "The sect will know what you've done."
"The sect already knows," the red-eyed woman said with a smirk. "That's the problem."
Han Yu clenched his jaw from where he crouched.
