The Cicada-Wing Saber was razor-sharp. With one stroke, half the Wolf Demon’s head slid sideways off its body.
That blow dropped the Wolf Demon again. This time, Pan Long did not play the "real men never look back" game. He kept swinging, up and down, left and right, hacking at it at least thirty or fifty times in one breath until he had cut it into chunks of varying sizes.
His knife work was excellent. The chunks looked fairly square. Pluck the fur, strip the hide, trim off the fat, blanch them, then simmer them in spiced broth for a few hours, and they could probably go on sale at a cooked-meat stall.
The only question was whether they were poisonous...
Seeing the Wolf Demon reduced to chopped meat, Pan Long breathed a sigh of relief, though his brows remained furrowed.
As he had cut it down and chopped it apart, the creature had barely resisted. That was only natural for a corpse, but it made no sense compared to the terrifying strength it had shown when it ambushed him—enough to send him flying a mile or two with one blow and even break his spine.
Surely it hadn't been clinging to its last breath for revenge, pouring every scrap of strength it had left into that one strike?
That sort of thing only happened in stories!
Pan Long thought for a long time but could not work out the reason. In the end, he shook his head and stamped his foot, leaving a pit in the ground. With a sweep of his sleeve, he sent all the pieces of the Wolf Demon’s corpse into it, then waved his hand again to bury them. At least the creature had been laid to rest.
With that done, he looked around and