For one heartbeat, Lin Tian felt the trace try to open.
His vision sharpened. His blood felt hot under his skin. His qi wanted to explode outward.
First breath: dantian.
Second: meridians.
Third: mind.
The serpent recoiled and struck again, faster.
Lin Tian pivoted inside its line and drove a short palm strike against its lower jaw—not to crush it, but to disrupt the angle. His strike carried qi, compact and controlled.
The serpent's head snapped up slightly.
Enough for Zhao Yuming's blade to flash in.
Zhao Yuming slashed at the serpent's neck plating, anger turning into decisive motion.
The cut didn't sever.
The armor was thick.
The serpent hissed and whipped its body, tail smashing into Zhao Yuming's side and throwing him into the snow.
Zhao Yuming grunted, breath knocked out.
He Lian finally moved—darting in, throwing a handful of frost needles from a concealed pouch.
They struck the serpent's eye ridge and shattered harmlessly against ice plating.
