Hot-Blooded

Crimson-Faced Heavenly King had no distractions in his heart. In his eyes, in his pupils, only Duàn Yì's figure remained.

Everyone else, every object, even heaven and earth, had vanished from before his eyes and from his world. This was sincerity; this was self-forgetfulness.

Other than praising Duàn Yì's swordsmanship, he spoke no further nonsense.

He took a step toward Duàn Yì. Driven by a surging force of qi, the great saber in his palm sprang from its sheath with a clang and landed in his thick, powerful right hand, solid as a bear's paw, drawing the gaze of everyone present.

This great saber was roughly three feet six inches long. Its hilt was wrapped layer upon layer in strips of cloth, dark in color, while its guard was a gentle oval shape that separated the hilt from the blade.

From the guard onward, the blade was straight at first, then abruptly curved at a certain point. Its edge was thin as if weightless, while its spine was more than two inches thick, yet it did not appear bloated or clumsy.

Most captivating of all was the snowy brightness radiating from the saber's blade. It was flawless throughout and brimming with spiritual aura. Through the Sword Spirit of the Seven Star Dragon Abyss Sword, Duàn Yì could even vaguely sense that within the great saber, a faint, ignorant living thing was being nurtured.

Like a fetus still in its mother's womb—it already existed, yet had not truly descended into this world.

"Fine saber. What is this saber called?"

An unusually delighted gleam shone in Duàn Yì's eyes. His long, thick black brows slanted outward, giving him a spirited, dashing air, while every glance revealed heroic vigor.

A saber capable of independently nurturing spirituality after birth was naturally a fine saber,