What met Tiger King's eyes was a face both familiar and unfamiliar.
It was familiar because it looked exactly as it had in his memories, save that the passage of years and the shaping of temperament had made it seem more mature.
Yet it was unfamiliar because a sword scar, as long as an adult's index finger, stretched across Demon Sword's forehead. Threads of pure white aura flowed through the scar like ants and insects nesting in a burrow, disgusting and chilling to behold.
That pure white aura rolled like silver mercury, yet brimmed with sacred intent. Its edge was endless, imperishable and indestructible, ceaselessly renewing itself. It was a terrifying sword qi. Just who had left behind such sword qi?
One had to know that Demon Sword's martial arts were extraordinarily high. He was hailed as the once-in-an-age genius of the Sword Demon Lineage, having created the Demon Sword Art himself. His strength was anything but ordinary, enough to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Demon Swords of every generation, perhaps even surpassing them.
For such a man to bear so terrifying a wound upon his face, one that could not be healed—how could that not be shocking?
Tiger King had initially been merely stunned. But when he realized something, the instant he fixed his gaze upon Demon Sword's eyes, he felt an intense stabbing sensation. His eyes squeezed shut of their own accord, his tear ducts bursting as though he had endured some heartbreaking sorrow and wept bitterly.
At the same time his eyes closed, Tiger King felt a divine sword qi that filled heaven and earth stab through the air before him, nearly piercing his heart. A sense of mortal danger surged over him.
"Whew, whew... What terrifying sword qi. What kind of opponent did you encounter?"