"This blade... there's something wrong with it? It cut my flesh just now, and that was why it could draw in my vital blood from afar. This isn't a heavenly blade—it's a demonic blade. Cough, cough. Is this the real reason you were so confident you could kill me?"
The rises and falls of life, the flourishing and withering of death—everything was truly impermanent. The Human Demon Sect Master, who had been wreathed in surging Demonic Flame and utterly unrivaled just moments ago, now seemed to struggle even to speak. His voice no longer carried its former resonance and vigor. Instead, it sounded as though phlegm were lodged in his throat, each word popping out one by one.
Coupled with his loose, disheveled hair and shriveled face, who would dare believe that this was one of the giants of the demonic path, the Human Demon Sect Master?
His former high spirits and his current state of fading breath formed an incomparably stark contrast. Yet this only highlighted Nan Fenglan's—or rather, this wooden blade's—strangeness and power.
Though the Human Demon Sect Master had lost much of his vital blood and had only a thread of primordial qi keeping him alive, his mind remained clear. With his martial insight, it was easy for him to realize that he had ended up in this state because the wooden blade had cut his body during his brief exchange with Nan Fenglan.
Otherwise, even if Nan Fenglan held the wooden blade, and even if the blade possessed a spirit capable of controlling its wielder, it could only defeat him. Killing him would have been harder than ascending to heaven. But all words were futile now. One careless move, and the whole game was lost.
"That's right. This is a martial art Xiang Yang created himself,