The Nameless Short Blade

The first sensation was cold; the second was pain.

Wei Luo immediately pulled back his hand. A quick look showed a vivid red gash on it.

His expression froze, and he hurriedly pulled out the thing inside.

It was, astonishingly, a foot-long short blade.

The blade was entirely pitch-black, without the slightest trace of any other color. No one knew what material it had been forged from; even its edge was black.

Wei Luo was astonished. He had merely brushed against it lightly, yet it had left a wound. Just how sharp was this blade?

Before he could think further, Wei Luo immediately gripped the blade and slashed at the pile of broken wood blocking the doorway.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Even Wei Luo was moved by the black blade's sharpness. Logs more than ten centimeters thick did not even require a second strike before being sliced cleanly in two.

In just over ten seconds, he had cleared a gap through the pile of debris.

He immediately slapped Sun Sheng awake, grabbed him, and rushed outside.

The trip had been hair-raising, and Wei Luo had nearly lost his life.

Yet from the time they went down to the time they came back up, only two or three minutes had passed.

"Hah!"

Wei Luo let out a long breath, expelling the stale air from his chest. At that moment, he had never felt that being able to breathe normally was such a wonderful thing.

Only then did he have the chance to examine the black short blade in his hand.

The blade seemed naturally formed. There was not even the slightest seam between its hilt and body.

Even under sunlight, it reflected no gleam at all. It was quite strange.

From its sharpness and the feel of it in his hand, Wei