Spirit Smoke Eight Immortals
Xiao Ran swore he'd only wanted to use the female corpse as cover so he could make a getaway.
Who could've guessed that the Night Ghost across from him, holding a katana, would suddenly lose his mind and insist on taking a swing at him?
You got your fill of chopping, huh?
Well, that's got nothing to do with me now.
Sure enough, as Xiao Ran rejoiced inwardly, the principal on the other side had clearly reached his breaking point.
As Xiao Ran fled for his life, he'd only had his arm torn off and thrown back at him. He could pick it up, go home, sew it back on, and still use it.
But the Japanese Ronin's slash had left nothing behind—not even ash.
"Damn it!!"
The principal's voice brimmed with madness and fury. A frenzied aura of death surged from his body, and in an instant, countless slender blood vessels formed a spear that shot toward the Ronin.
The Ronin abruptly raised his head. Red sparks flickered in his dark eyes. Facing the incoming spear of flesh and blood, he bent his body slightly and gripped the hilt with one hand.
"Slash!"
The Ronin didn't speak, but the instant the blade left its sheath, a cold, sharp cry appeared in everyone's consciousness.
"Vmm..."
The curved katana drew a hair-thin silver line through the air and slashed into the spear.
The instant the silver line met the spear of flesh and blood, an ear-piercing tearing sound rang through the corridor. A flash of red light later, the spear made of blood vessels had been cleaved in two.
"Blade Draw Slash?"
Watching from behind, Xiao Ran couldn't help but feel deeply shaken.
As the saying went, outsiders watched for the spectacle, while insiders saw the skill.