Wang Xian's Embroidery Needle

"Crack!" Feng Xiuyun's right arm, the one gripping her sword, was severed at the shoulder. The white bones jutting from her left arm made her look even more wretched.

No one could have imagined that, just as her right arm fell, the spirit sword in her hand would instantly snap in two.

No one saw what had broken the spirit sword. Even Feng Xiuyun herself had no idea.

A trace of horror crept across her face.

She couldn't even believe it. Had the sword strike come from Sa Tongtian before her, or had that monstrous young man Feng Yanran had mentioned secretly attacked her from the wind?

In that instant, countless fine sword wounds appeared across her body.

These wounds hadn't come from the old man before her. She alone knew that almost every one of them had been inflicted by that trace of sword intent hidden in the wind.

Sword intent mingled among the snowflakes she had slashed into powder.

Falling snow made no sound, and the sword intent left no trace. Only when you saw it did you realize how terrifying it was.

In that instant, cold sweat soaked her back, because she had truly caught the scent of death.

Blood gushed from her severed arm like a stream.

The old man before her, Sa Tongtian, looked deathly pale.

He had nearly exhausted all his energy after breaking through his realm. He had never imagined that he could cut down dozens of Spirit Transformation cultivators with his sword.

They were all Her Majesty the Empress's devoted subjects.

Today, they had turned to dust in the wind before the Son of Heaven's Hall.

The old man wondered: could his sword still kill?

Even so, he didn't stop. He couldn't.

He was the high priest of the imperial dynasty, and