Three days later, early in the morning, Meng Zhao sat upright inside the main tent of the barracks where the Dan Chi Clan was stationed. He wore a blue robe and a white fur cloak, and held a strip of white silk soaked in glossy oil as he carefully polished Evil Calamity, which had taken the form of a Miao saber.
His gaze was focused, his expression relaxed and pleased, and even his movements carried a peculiar rhythm.
At this moment, Evil Calamity was around five feet long. Its blade was slender and snow-bright, its thin edge suffused with a fierce, razor-sharp aura. It resembled both a saber and a spear.
Its savage aura had not diminished in the slightest, yet in Meng Zhao's hand, it was as docile as a housecat.
Once the oil on the white silk was applied to the blade, the glossy substance could be seen vanishing into Evil Calamity as swiftly as droplets melting into the sea, while the weapon emitted an unceasing hum.
Though only a few days had passed, Evil Calamity had already recovered some of its spirituality. The price, however, had been the blood essence of several hundred people. The various energies and baleful wickedness produced from it had all been transformed into evil thoughts and spirituality, replenishing its losses.
Such conduct indeed bore the style of the Demonic Path, but so long as it remained confined within certain bounds, no one dared say it was wrong.
Not only that, Meng Zhao had also drawn upon some of the Divine Might Army's reserve resources to feed Evil Calamity. For instance, the oil staining the white silk was red copper oil, a common yet precious substance used to nourish weapons. It was costly, but its effects were naturally remarkable.
Over the past few