With one slash, the bird heads of six Golden-Wing Royal Clan demon lords flew into the air, severed in two.
The Demon Race's dharma bodies, said to be immortal in golden light and unscarred through countless tribulations, were no different from papier-mâché beneath the sword.
"This is..."
"This is Refining Sword into Silk—Refining Sword into Silk!"
True Lord Xufang had completely forgotten everything else. Staring fixedly at that willow-floss-soft sword light, he finally confirmed it and cried out without end, like a believer arriving at the highest and holiest temple, faintly seized by the urge to prostrate himself in worship.
"Then it's no surprise."
"No surprise."
True Lord Xufang murmured to himself.
Refining Sword into Silk!
What kind of realm in the sword dao was that?
For these six Golden-Wing Royal Clan demon lords to die beneath this sword was practically a blessing cultivated over eight lifetimes—a destined fate they could only endure, never evade.
One had to know that True Lord Jianyang had merely stepped over the threshold of Sword-Qi Thunderclap and walked some distance beyond it, still far from reaching the peak.
Yet that alone was enough to make him the strongest in the Northern Plains.
"Xufang,"
"I have a debt here. Can you help me settle it?"
Jiang Ding collected the corpses of the six demon lords and came before True Lord Xufang with a faint smile, his manner warm and gentle, like a sunny youth from next door.
"Fellow Daoist, of course I can."
True Lord Xufang had already secretly sent out a talisman message calling for aid. Now he forced a smile onto his face and respectfully offered up a storage pouch with both hands. "Fellow Daoist saved me; what immense grace that is. This trifling gift is unworthy of your kindness."
"If Fellow Daoist