Ryūmon Hōzukimaru swept out in a horizontal slash.
Before the blade could touch the black wings, an abnormal sound came from the city behind them.
From Ging's perspective, for an instant, it seemed as though the space above and below the blade's path had shifted out of alignment.
An invisible blade of air swept across the streets.
Hundreds of wings froze in midair. The next second, their severed edges slid apart at once.
Boom!
The gale compressed behind the blade erupted in full.
The ruined walls outside the altar were ripped from their foundations, rubble, bones, and feathers all hurled toward the edge of the ruins. Even Hecatos's enormous skeleton could not keep its footing. Its feet dragged across several streets before it finally crashed through the city wall and stopped.
Bai Zhu held his slashing posture, staring blankly at the sword in his hand.
"This..."
The crimson patterns on the blade slowly flowed. Just now, he had only raised it instinctively to block the attack. He had not drawn upon the power within the sword, nor had he poured any extra Reiatsu into it.
He had simply swung it.
Ging poked his head out from behind the low platform.
"What are you spacing out for?"
"I think I underestimated this sword."
Bai Zhu raised his right arm and felt the power in his body once more.
Ryūmon Hōzukimaru had previously been more like an amplifier. To Bai Zhu, this kind of purely physical attack had not seemed especially powerful.
But that slash had made him realize his past thinking had been too simplistic. Even if it was prone to damage, extreme sharpness itself was a kind of power.
As long as one had enough strength.
And the blade was sharp enough.
Anything with a physical form would be like