He lunged forward, not dodging the rapier, but slipping under it.
His flexibility was impossible for a man of his size; he bent backward, his spine curving like a hunting leopard's, the silver blade missing his nose by a hair's breadth.
Before Feng could recover his stance, Hu Yanlie's hand shot out. His fingers were curled into rigid, claw-like hooks.
He didn't punch, but swiped through.
His hand struck the flat of Feng's rapier with the force of a falling boulder. The high-grade spiritual sword didn't just deflect; it shattered into three pieces with a resounding CRACK.
Feng stared at his broken hilt in absolute disbelief. "M-My sword..."
"Steel is weak!" Hu Yanlie barked, his golden eyes flashing with dominant arrogance. "Flesh and instinct are absolute!"
