"The Demon Lord's cultivation is naturally profound. Killing you should not take more than two moves, but he has no interest in you.
I, Linglong, am different. You killed Chu Canglan and took his place in the Sky Record. I am quite interested in testing your skills, to see whether you truly deserve this honor."
The young girl Linglong sat upright atop a donkey, her figure graceful, her clear eyes like water. With a single strum of the harp in her hands, the echoes rang without end. A crescent-shaped blade of qi, a zhang long, condensed in the air and shot forth, its milky-white glow bristling with serrated rays.
This attack looked utterly ordinary, as though even a third-rate martial artist could gather qi into a blade. Yet how keen was Xiang Yang's eye? At a glance, he saw through the surging killing intent concealed beneath that gleam of qi.
Its power did not lie in the sort of crushing force that filled heaven and earth, but in qi condensed to its utmost limit, giving rise to peerless sharpness and cutting force. It might not be able to flatten a mountain peak, but it could perhaps bore straight through one.
If a heaven-destroying, earth-shattering force could not hit anyone or kill anyone, then it might as well not exist. Yet if a force capable only of shattering a stone could accurately strike a person's head, then that force was exceedingly formidable as well.
With Xiang Yang's current martial arts and physical cultivation, if he took this blade of qi head-on, there was a seventy percent chance he would emerge completely unscathed, and a thirty percent chance it would leave wounds that could never be erased or healed.
Xiang Yang would not gamble on something so meaningless, much less joke with