Talon said, “A Demonic Cultivator at the Earthly Immortal Realm Level Nine tops the younger generation. Niall lags a level behind. Victory is nearly impossible.”

Back on the duel, Niall’s complexion drained to the color of paper.

Each movement of the Wintry Sword Technique consumed oceans of spiritual energy, and he had only puddles left. Atorn’s demonic aura, however, surged on without end, growing fiercer by the heartbeat.

“Ninth Form-Snowstorm!”

With a hoarse roar, Niall channeled the final spark of spiritual energy into his sword. The sword erupted into a colossal ice dragon-claws spread, fangs bared, every scale carved from frozen starlight. It dived at Atorn with a roar that shook the peaks. This was Niall’s strongest strike, his trump card.

For the first time, a glimmer of caution flashed across Atorn’s eyes, only to be chased away by a carnivore’s grin. Cruelty curved his lips.

He slammed the spear butt into the ground. Both hands blurred through sinister seals. “Demonic Engulfer!”