Chapter 247: The Appearance of the Divine Dragon (3)
After tasting the essence of the martial arts known as the pride of Shaolin, Qing thought.
Ugh. Disgusting. Truly disgusting.
He’s completely specialized for friendly duels.
No matter how much I bash him with a sword, if he insists it doesn’t work, there’s nothing I can do.
This is like a completely tilted playing field—no, it’s beyond tilted; it’s like laying siege with your back to a fortress wall.
If it were a real sword, I’m confident I could at least strip the skin off even if I couldn't cut muscle, leaving him a blood-soaked mess. If I peeled the skin and poked at him bit by bit, even a Shaolin monk would bawl his eyes out in pain.
But the Murim Tournament isn’t an event meant for forging new blood feuds—it's supposed to be for friendship and camaraderie.
So even if it’s disgusting, well.
I have to find a method.
Qing briefly replayed the duel in her mind.
Distance. Right—distance was the tricky part.
When it comes to fighting—not just martial arts but the broader act of combat itself—the importance of distance doesn’t even need to be emphasized; it’s everything.