On top of the battle stage in the Sacred Land, all the disciples and experts of the clan watched with surprised expressions.
“Ten moves? Zhao Feng still dares to be so arrogant?”
“This brat just became a Core disciple of the Mystic True Sacred Clan, and Zuo Hong’s cultivation is higher than his.”
Not many out of the couple hundred spectators thought well of Zhao Feng. After all, Zuo Hong was an old Core disciple who seemed to surpass Zhao Feng in every aspect.
Furthermore, that brat Zhao Feng arrogantly proposed a ten-move bet.
“What, you scared?”
Zhao Feng smiled.
The reason he came up with a ten-move bet was to prove that he had the strength and potential to replace someone.
If he won such a bet, no one would mock him or disdain his master’s – Duanmu Qing’s – name.
“Why would I be scared? If I lose, I will apologize to you and retreat whenever I see you.”
Zuo Hong laughed. He seemed to have already obtained victory.