"Demon Sweeping Heavenly Lord—" Lu Zhi was about to speak and smooth things over, but his voice was already cut short.
Jiang Wang lowered the hand he had raised in invitation and casually brushed at the corner of his robe, yet killing intent rang from him as sharp as a drawn sword. "Or perhaps, amid the warm hospitality of the realm, there are others who wish to come and see me off—"
His brows lifted slightly, his fringe stirring on its own. "I, for one, believe I can bear it."
Back then, Xingnian had crossed alone in a solitary boat, through countless hardships and obstacles.
Today, Jiang Wang had returned alone, refusing no one who came.
He feared not ten million foes, cared not for however much hatred there was—those two words, "bear it," fully displayed the bearing of a true powerhouse.
Even if Peng Erlai was present, Hu Boqing returned, or there were yet other world-suppressing powerhouses of the Demon Race... it would make no difference!
Borrowing a sword was easy; returning one was hard. An evil guest was easy to invite, but hard to send away.
Lu Zhi had defined the sword Jiang Wang left in Primordial Imperial City as "being stored," and Jiang Wang had tacitly accepted that definition.
That was his attitude at this moment.
But when he had once been stranded in the Demon Realm, it was not merely the three debts of karma he owed Zhu Dali, Chai Asi, and Yuan Laoxi, nor was it only one spear owed to Rao Bingzhang.
Had Xingnian not ferried him away in that solitary boat, he would never have returned to the human world, and there would be no Demon Sweeping Heavenly Lord of today.
The Hearing Bell of old, and even his later karmic connection with