Cloud Falls, Wild Dark Envelops Dust Camp, Divine Shadow Hangs in Sky, Ten Thousand Soldiers Shocked

The fragments of the shattered curved saber clattered to the ground. A few bounced up, struck Mo Tu's boots, then bounced away again.

He stood frozen in place, his fingers still curled in the posture of gripping a blade. The blade itself was gone, leaving only a bare hilt.

He lowered his head to glance at the fragments on the ground, then looked up at the old man.

The old man did not move. He did not even look at him. His cloudy eyes remained fixed on the sea of fire ahead, on the Xiongnu soldiers being swallowed by artillery shells, filled with pity and grief.

Cold sweat instantly soaked Mo Tu's back.

The old man was no fraud. He truly had skill!

Mo Tu knew exactly what kind of weapon that saber was. As the Left General, how could his weapon possibly be ordinary?

It was a treasure that could slice through iron like mud.

Yet it had merely rested against the old man's shoulder before shattering outright. Just how strong was this old man?

And now, he stood only two steps away from him.

At this distance—no, even if Mo Tu were a hundred zhang away—the old man could take his life in an instant.

That move just now.

He had not even seen it clearly before the curved saber shattered.

It had not been snapped in two, but crushed to pieces, as though an invisible hand had clenched it and pulverized it.

Every hair on his body stood on end, his sense of danger reaching its peak.

The surrounding personal guards surged forward, curved sabers drawn, shielding Mo Tu.

"Protect the commander!"

"Back up! Back up!"

More than a dozen black-armored guards surrounded Mo Tu, their blade tips aimed at the old man, though their hands were