I Am This Murim’s Crazy Bitch

Qing shot forward along the ground as if she were scraping across it.

Thanks to that, from Wolbong’s perspective, her figure suddenly dropped downward, then abruptly seemed to spring up from right in front of him.

In response, Wolbong planted his feet using the technique of the Thousand-Catty Hammer and placed his forearms together like an iron wall.

And then, tap.

The sword strike that touched his tightly braced forearms felt as light as a feather. Since it was clearly not intended as an actual attack, Wolbong quietly lowered his arms.

There stood Qing, calmly holding her sword.

“Shiju, is something wrong?”

“Just now—were you planning to block my sword strike with your bare arms?”

“Yes.”

At his confident reply, Qing was momentarily speechless.

Was that even possible?

Blocking a sword swing with just two forearms—even in a friendly duel, that was pushing it.