White light flashed, and the Sacred Longsword cleaved through the phantom.
The Old Count had not expected Pan Long to attack the moment they met. He reacted a beat too slowly and took the slash.
A straight line appeared on his insubstantial body, running from head to waist, as though he had been split open. Had he been made of flesh and blood, he would already have fallen in two.
Unfortunately, he was not.
The slash left only a mark. Countless black specks rapidly appeared across the white line, like tiny insects gnawing at it. Before long, they seemed likely to devour the mark completely and restore him to his former state.
But Pan Long swung again.
His blade flashed like Electricity, gleamed like snow. Streak after streak filled the area.
One crack, then two... More and more appeared across the Old Count's transparent body, growing denser until they crisscrossed from end to end.
Within seconds, white cracks covered almost his entire figure. The unmarked portions had become the exception.
He looked like a white silhouette flecked with black specks that kept surfacing. It was disgusting.
"You can't kill me," the Old Count said from within the phantom. "I'm immortal."
Pan Long did not answer. He kept swinging at full speed.
The blade continued to flash.
After an unknown stretch of time, all that remained before him was a mass of bright white, vaguely shaped like a person.
The black specks had long since stopped appearing, and the Old Count had fallen silent.
But the figure remained. That meant he was still alive, not yet destroyed.
Pan Long planted his sword against the ground and caught his breath.
Even he was tired after swinging it so many times without pause.
The Old Count was in far worse shape.
Although Pan