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“You really want to drive me mad! Why don’t you fight him with a sword? Aren’t you supposed to be so powerful?” Ruoxi exclaimed in exasperation.

“Where would I get a sword?” Mo Shan was stunned, his mind whirling with confusion at the question, unable to react at all.

He fixed his gaze on Ruoxi, and suddenly, a flash of inspiration struck him. Images flickered through his mind—the underground scenes in the Kilimanjaro Forest, that strange moment when he held a longsword in his hand.

“Sword! Sword!” Mo Shan ran his hands over his body, searching for it.

“Where could it be?”

“It seems I haven’t pressured you enough. You still have the energy to lose your temper with someone else!” The voice issued from the figure in black, crisp and pleasant to the ear. If one didn’t listen carefully, one might mistake it for a woman’s voice.

The melodious tone carried a subtle magnetism, deliberately lowered, yet unmistakably laced with ridicule.

The sword in the black-clad figure’s hand seemed to deepen in shade, growing darker still, and as it swung, faint traces of dust drifted from the blade.

“Damn it!” Ruoxi was instantly cowed by the oppressive strength unleashed by the black-clad figure, gritting her teeth in frustration.

Hero’s End of Days.

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