The lengthy silence of death.
Wang Anfeng glanced at the direction, shifted the bow from his left hand to his right, shook his palm slightly, and said indifferently, "Sorry, I missed."
"This round counts as our loss."
"By the way, what was the wager you wanted?"
His face wore a polite smile, yet it was cold without a hint of warmth.
He raised the bow in his hand.
The bowstring trembled and buzzed, accompanied by a rumble like distant thunder, almost forming a blur too fast to see.
Wang Anfeng smiled warmly:
"It seems I didn't hear clearly..."
No one answered; the man in grey clothes guarded beside Wen Yuzhe with his sword. He hadn't moved either. The previous arrow, had it been shot at him, he could have blocked it, but only just.
Glancing at the line on the floor as if it had been ravaged by a fierce beast, he couldn't help but take a sharp breath.
Terrifying brute strength.
Brute strength that almost ignores techniques, defenses, and the momentum of the sword.
