East Courtyard.
Clang—
Jiang Ning drew the blade from its sheath, and the long saber in his hand instantly rang out with a soft, clear hum. The sound was pleasing to the ear, as if the cry of Dragon's Roar were echoing beside him.
He lowered his head and looked. The blade in his hand was dull and lightless, with mottled patches of gray-white stains.
Then he went to the side, wet the blade with water, pressed his index and middle fingers together, and wiped down along the blade.
Zheng—
The instant his fingers left the blade, another soft hum rang out.
The gray-white stains on the blade remained exactly as they were, without the slightest trace fading.
"As expected, it isn't that simple. These should be traces left on the blade by the passage of time."
"I hope these traces won't affect this Spirit Weapon too greatly."
Jiang Ning said inwardly.
Afterward.
He pressed his index and middle fingers together again, set them against the edge of the blade in his hand, then made a light stroke.
In an instant.
He felt an extremely faint pain, and immediately, crimson blood welled up on the pads of his index and middle fingers.
"What a sharp blade!" Jiang Ning was slightly surprised.
Originally, he had thought that after being eroded by such long years, with the blade so dim and dull besides, this Spirit Weapon should have long since lost its original sharpness.
But now, after personally experiencing the sharpness of this blade.
He knew that he had still underestimated Spirit Weapons.
Even if this blade might not be as keen-edged as it had been back then, it was still a Divine Weapon and a sharp weapon.
"As expected of the legendary Spirit Weapon!" Jiang Ning said to himself.
Then he