Seven little peachwood swords darted back and forth like birds. They seemed to swarm like a flock of bees, attacking in an unending barrage. In an instant, they formed a sword net and descended upon Puxiang, who had shed his skin and revealed his true form, intent on trapping and killing him within the formation!
Of course, they weren't just being flung around at random. Each sword followed a carefully coordinated path, never colliding with another or leaving a large enough opening for the target to escape. This combined technique was known as a flying sword formation. When three, five, or seven cultivators found themselves outmatched alone, they would often join forces with a flying sword formation to surround and attack a powerful foe. Once caught in the formation, anyone who didn't know how to break it was as good as dead.
So even though Puxiang now looked like a blood-soaked man without skin, ferocious as a demon gone mad, he still didn't dare take the attack head-on. With a shrill cry, he shot into the air, turned, and fled. He was so fast that he became a streak of red, and the flying swords could barely keep up!
That was the problem. Gongsun Han's carved wooden swords were only Magic Treasures, not proper magical artifacts. They were slow, weak, and became unusable as soon as they were tainted with blood—like bees that could sting only once. If he'd had a case of proper flying swords, Puxiang wouldn't even have had time to react. He would've been beheaded on the spot.
Gongsun Han knew his own weakness, of course. He bit the tip of his tongue and spat out a mouthful of blood essence. Beads of blood clung to his beard, and blood vessels webbed across the whites of his