Sword Pavilion's Fourth Floor: Three-Sword Style
"Looks like it's going to snow."
As the saying went, you could tell the weather by looking at the clouds. A moment later, Fu Qian finally lowered his gaze from the cloudless sky and exclaimed to himself in wonder.
Of course, the logic behind that was enough to make anyone's mind explode.
For instance, Old Man Weilong, watching him from behind, was clearly in a heavy mood. Fu Qian could sense it without even turning around.
But Fu Qian still turned around.
For a demigod, the distance between them was no obstacle to hearing his earlier remark.
Old Man Weilong's expression was grave, but he finally managed to restrain himself from showing his confusion.
It was clear that after weathering the vicissitudes of life, he had learned a thing or two: when dealing with the temporary spokesperson of the Apocalypse, silence was golden.
And even if the other party spoke first, he should think twice before answering—
Unfortunately, Professor Fu seemed just as disinclined to speak. Instead, he resorted to body language.
His gaze never lingered on Old Man Weilong. Amid a sharp crack, one of Fu Qian's arms stretched out unnaturally, and he slapped a window behind him to pieces.
The magnificent, imposing building instantly met the same fate as the Institute of Curses.
Riiip—
Professor Fu didn't even stop there. His arm reached inside, gave a hard tug, and came back with a dark brown curtain that looked both luxurious and heavy.
He draped it over himself with practiced ease, wrapping it around his body to cover up his bloodstained clothes. Then Fu Qian left without sparing another glance at the wreckage behind him.
This time, there were undoubtedly many more people watching him go.
Along with Old Man Weilong and the