Fang Mo's brows furrowed more and more tightly.
Although the knife in the picture is shrouded in light and the specific material cannot be seen clearly, the outline, the curvature, and the special thick hemp rope wrapped around the handle...
Why does it look more familiar the more I look at it?
Like that toy that I used to play around with when I was little?
"No way..."
Fang Mo opened his eyes suddenly, jumped up from the horse, swayed, and rushed back to his room.
His room is at West Wing, where he has slept since he was a baby.
Fang Mo was lying on the ground and half of his body was under the bed.
Dust blew into his face, choking him and making him cough twice.
He rummaged frantically among the jumbled pile of old things under the bed.
Rattle Drum from childhood, a kite with a broken string, a few dusty Mud Ball...
Finally, in a corner full of spider webs, Fang Mo's fingers touched a hard wooden stick with a rough texture.
He pulled it out.
One Wooden Sword.
It is about three feet long and is grey-brown in color. The blade is somewhat curved and covered with scratches from time and teeth marks from being ignorant when I was a child.
The handle of the knife was wrapped with circles of thick hemp rope that had turned black, and there was a somewhat scattered red sword tassel hanging from the end.
This was the only weapon Fang Mo had when he was a child.
At that time, Old Fang was always squatting in the yard, smoking dry cigarettes, and smiling at little Fang Mo chasing the old hens in the yard with this Wooden Sword.
"Son, this is a good thing. If you can't get a wife with it in the future, I will twist off the head and let you kick it as a ball."
At that time, Fang Mo just thought it was the old man's excuse for not buying him a real knife to save money. Later, when he grew up, he just threw it under the bed to collect ashes.
Fang Mo sat cross-legged on the ground, holding this Wooden Sword and looking at it over and over.
This is cut out of an ordinary Jujube Wood stick.
There's nothing special about it except that it's a little heavier and a little harder.
"Old man, you wouldn't really use this thing to chop down that Corpse Herding Cult master, would you?"
Fang Mo murmured to himself.
He tried to hold the handle of the knife.
That familiar feeling came to my mind instantly.
It's like this knife was originally an extension of his arm, perfectly fitting every line in his palm.
Somehow.
Fang Mo didn't infuse Qi and blood like he did with that kitchen knife.
He stretched out his left index finger, put it to his mouth, and bit it gently with his teeth.
The bright red Blood Bead oozes out.
He pressed his fingers on the dusty Wooden Sword blade.
"Tick tock."
Blood drips.
It didn't slide down the blade, but like water dripping into a sponge, it instantly seeped in and disappeared without a trace.
The next moment.
Fang Mo felt that my palms were hot.
"Boom--!"
A ferocious and overbearing terrifying aura exploded from the inside of Wooden Sword, and the airflow in the room suddenly stagnated.
The dusty Wooden Sword seemed to come to life.
As the blood seeps in, the dry and dark wood grains squirm crazily, as if countless tiny red snakes are walking under the surface.
"Click... click..."
A series of fine cracking sounds.
The gray shell peels off like air-dried wall skin, revealing the crystal clear Blood Crystal underneath that looks like Amber.
Red light filled the wing, making the place look like Asura Blood Hell.
A huge suction force came from the handle of the knife, and Fang Mo's palm was tightly sucked.
"Gudu... Gudu..."
This knife was devouring his blood crazily.
Fang Mo can clearly feel that the blood and energy in his body are being withdrawn along his arm at a terrifying speed and poured into the greedy Wooden Sword.
If it were an ordinary Qi and Blood Realm Martial Artist, I'm afraid that I would be sucked into fuck by someone right now.
But who is Fang Mo?
He is Lord of the Prison, with Twelve Viscera Gods sitting in his body, and his qi and blood are far stronger than those of ordinary people.
"Are you hungry?"
Fang Mo A flash of ruthlessness flashed in his eyes, and he grinned.
"I'll beat you to death today!"
Not only did he not resist, but he took the initiative to run "Blood Scripture". Dantian Qi Hai roared, blasting all the energy and blood from his body to his right arm without reservation.
Come on! Let's hurt each other!
Let's see who will suck me dry first, or whether I will burst you first!
With the infusion of massive amounts of Qi and blood, the knife trembled more and more violently.
The Blood Amber on the blade gradually lost the last trace of impurities and became pure and flawless, as if a river of blood was roaring inside.
The blackened hemp rope on the handle of the knife was also broken inch by inch, turning into fly ash, exposing the Dark Gold Metal Grip underneath.
Near the gauntlet, two simple and vigorous small characters appeared -
[Blood Soul].
"Buzz--!"
The more passionate Blade Song penetrated the roof and shot straight into the sky.
Fang Mo felt a bang in his mind, and a fragmented but extremely domineering memory fragment was forcefully stuffed into his Sea of Consciousness along the handle of the knife.
It was a battlefield Blood Sea filled with corpses.
A man turned his back to him, holding the crystal clear Blood Colored Long Saber in his hand.
The man didn't look back, but his voice rang in Fang Mo's ears.
"Knife is not for playing with."
"Knives are used to kill people."
"It's also used to protect roads."
"Look carefully, this knife--Heaven Slash!"
In the picture, the man waved his hand casually.
There are no fancy moves, just the simplest vertical chop.
But the moment the knife fell, the color of the world changed.
The Blood Sea that filled the sky was split into two, and the thick Cloud Layer above the sky was also torn open by this bloody Blade Light with a crack that was ten thousand feet long.
The sky is broken.
"Hu--"
Fang Mo suddenly came back to his senses, panting heavily, and his forehead was covered with cold sweat.
At that moment, he seemed to be really on that battlefield, facing the sword that could split the sky.
That sense of oppression was tens of thousands of times stronger than the Zombie Tiger facing Yin Mountain Daoist.
At this time, the [Blood Soul] in hand has stopped sucking blood.
It lies quietly in Fang Mo's hand. It is about three feet and three inches long. The blade is like blood jade glass, as thin as cicada wings, but it has an indestructible quality.
There is no sharp edge at the blade, only a faint red light flowing, but Fang Mo has no doubt that this thing can easily cut through Bronze Armored Corpse's defense even with a slight scratch.
"Good knife."
Fang Mo stroked the blade lightly, and felt a warm touch from his fingertips, as if he were stroking his lover's skin.
This knife has spirituality.
It is cheering, jumping for joy, and expressing its obedience and desire to its new owner.
"So old man, you have been hiding it right under my nose."
Fang Mo grasped the handle of the knife tightly and waved it twice casually.
There was no sound.
The blade cuts through the air, just like a hot knife cutting through butter, and even the resistance of the air is cut directly by the Sharp Qi.
"Boom, boom, boom."
At this moment, there was a sudden knock on the door, interrupting Fang Mo's thoughts.
"Lord Fang! Lord Fang is at home?"