Tournament [5]

From the Fang Clan's viewing stand, Fang Tian slowly rose to his feet.

His arms were crossed, but his eyes gleamed with sharp light.

"Looks like Little Yang practiced extra hard," he muttered, a rare flicker of pride crossing his face.

Beside him, Fang Mei leaned forward, hands clenched tightly in her lap.

Her breath caught in her throat as she whispered, "Please don't fail…"

On either side of her, Fang Rui and Fang Bo, usually restless sat still for once, their gazes locked on the figure standing alone in the swirling dust.

Down below, Fang Yang stood tall amidst the cracked stone.

His robes fluttered in the aftermath of Zhao Lu's relentless assault. Dust settled slowly around his boots like snowfall.

But he didn't waver.

He inhaled slowly… and then let his blade fall.

Clang.

The tip struck the ground with a soft chime—gentle, almost reverent.

And then, light surged.