Chen Chuanfeng stepped forward to seek instruction from Su Xin in the way of the sword. None of the Great Snow Mountain people present objected; they tacitly agreed.
After all, Sikong Ming had just been defeated in a single move. Great Snow Mountain had lost quite a bit of face over that.
They could accept defeat, but they could not accept such a humiliating record.
Su Xin drew the Feixue Sword from his waist and said, "Very well. Brother Chen, please."
Chen Chuanfeng's expression did not change. A long sword like autumn water flew from its sheath behind him, instantly bursting forth with dazzling radiance.
"Its name is Cold Dance. I forged it from cold iron fallen from beyond the heavens, tempering it with water and fire amid the waterfalls of the snow mountain for seventeen years. This sword contains my life's sword dao. Lord Su, be careful!"
To forge and nurture a sword for seventeen years, and to infuse it with one's own sword dao—even Su Xin had to praise him for his great perseverance.
Unfortunately, strength was not something one could attain through perseverance alone.
This time, Su Xin did not wait for Chen Chuanfeng to make the first move. A heaven-shaking blood-colored sword radiance erupted from Feixue, surging toward Chen Chuanfeng like towering waves of blood.
A sharp edge instantly burst from Chen Chuanfeng's autumn-water sword. He himself seemed to become like his sword as well, changing from utter plainness into a blade that bared all its edge.
Seventeen years forging the sword, seventeen years nurturing the sword; when the sword was completed, its cold gleam illuminated all fourteen provinces!
The powerful sword intent that erupted in that instant tore apart Su Xin's blood sword at once. Even Yue Dongliu below had to admit that Chen Chuanfeng