Lingxu had three natal flying swords.
Yet none of the three flying swords were by his side.
Ordinary cultivators regarded natal flying swords as their life souls; their natal flying swords shared weal and woe with them.
Thus, once cultivators possessed flying swords, they wished they could lock them within the inner abode of their bodies every day. Unless absolutely necessary, they would never take them out for others to see.
It perfectly demonstrated what it meant to fear they would melt if held in one's mouth, and fear they would shatter if cradled in one's palms.
Yet Lingxu did the exact opposite.
He had placed his flying swords in the nine most perilous forbidden regions between heaven and earth.
He let them roam freely beyond the heavens, wandering the world.
This was instead even more beneficial to his cultivation.
The three flying swords constantly nourished his cultivation in return.
But the drawback of doing so revealed itself at this moment...
He had used one sword to carry the city away, intending to summon the other two.
Only then did he discover that the other two swords were nowhere to be seen.
The auras of the two swords were clearly nearby, which was one reason Lingxu had been so confident.
Lingxu raised his left hand and could not help frowning slightly.
The three threads in his palm, connected to the Sword Dao and visible only to him, had not been severed.
Yet he could sense the flying swords, but could not grasp them.
"..."
Happy Old Man rarely drank a jug of wine.
Happy Old Man had once been an addict.
The kind addicted to drinking. He had once sworn that unless Shu Mountain was destroyed, he would never drink again for the rest of his life.
The wine flowed