Watching the shimmering white light in Li's hand, Michelangelo's eyes immediately lit up, while the tall man wore a look of disdain. "Another one of these types? A dual cultivator of magic and martial arts? Do you really think you're some kind of genius? If it weren't for the fact that you were born a noble, do you think you'd be able to speak to me like this?"
Li glanced at him as if he were looking at an idiot. Michelangelo, meanwhile, almost wanted to cover his face. Honestly, having a subordinate like this was truly embarrassing...
But the tall man clearly had no idea that his master had already begun to despise him. "Looking at your build... sigh, even other mages would probably look down on you if you became one, let alone a close-combat fighter. The lackeys beside you all look stronger than you. Why not let them come instead? I'll let you off the hook. How about it?"
He seemed determined to humiliate and provoke Li. As long as Li dared to attack him, he would have every reason to kill a noble who had attempted to assault a soldier—at the very least, it could be called excessive self-defense.
Li sneered and used his other hand to pick up the Iron-Cutting Sword from the ground. The hand glowing with white light brushed across the blade. After a screeching sound of metal grinding, the Iron-Cutting Sword could no longer be called a sword. It was a lump of iron—or rather, scrap iron.
The materials composing the sword had all been separated.
Li's cold voice rang out. "Everyone, look. These are the materials that made up this longsword." In truth, what he held was already an unidentifiable lump of metal, visibly separated into layers: dark bluish-black blacksteel at the