The Twelve Divine Needles
Everyone slowly raised their heads and discovered that the current Leon seemed to have become a completely different person. His gaze was like a sharp blade that pierced through one's mind.
The battlefield fell into complete silence.
Just moments ago, Leon had appeared calm and composed, relying only on his palm techniques to contend with Vartak. Now, however, the aura surrounding him had transformed entirely.
His midnight robes embroidered with delicate amethyst patterns fluttered gently in the violent winds.
His shoulder-length black hair danced behind him.
His purple eyes were no longer gentle.
They were sharp.
Cold.
Boundlessly profound.
The endless sword intent surrounding him made it seem as though countless invisible blades had filled the heavens.
Even breathing became difficult.
Several nearby cultivators instinctively lowered their heads, unable to withstand the pressure radiating from Leon's gaze alone.
"It..."
