Sword Sword Sword Sword... Son?
With a single slash, the bird heads of the six Golden Winged Royal Clan Demon Lords flew into the air, severed in two by one sword.
The Demon Race's supposedly indestructible golden-light body, said to be unhurt through ten thousand tribulations, was no different from papier-mâché beneath the sword.
"This is..."
"This is Refining Sword into Silk, Refining Sword into Silk!"
True Monarch Xufang forgot everything else, staring fixedly at that willow-fluff-like, frail sword light. He finally confirmed it and cried out without end, like a believer arriving before the hall of supreme holiness, faintly overcome with the urge to kneel in worship.
"Then it is no wonder."
"No wonder."
True Monarch Xufang muttered to himself.
Refining Sword into Silk!
What kind of realm in the Sword Dao was this?
For these six Golden Winged Royal Clan Demon Lords to die beneath this sword was simply the blessing they had cultivated over eight lifetimes. It was their fated destiny; they could only endure it and had no way to evade it.
One had to know that True Monarch Jianyang had only barely stepped across the threshold of Sword Qi Thunder Sound and traveled some distance along it. He had yet to reach its peak.
Even so, he could be called the strongest person in the Northern Plains.
"Xufang."
"I have a debt here. Can you help me calculate it?"
Jiang Ding put away the corpses of the six Demon Lords and came before True Monarch Xufang with a slight smile. His manner was warm and amiable, like the sunny boy next door.
"Fellow Daoist, of course I can."
True Monarch Xufang had already secretly sent out a talisman for aid. At this moment, he forced a smile onto his face and presented a Storage Bag