Pan Lei gazed at the long saber in his son's hand, its blade flashing coldly, his face full of envy.
What martial artist didn't love a fine weapon?
He couldn't help sighing. "I once had a fine sword myself. Its core was made of Fire Copper blessed by a venerable monk's sutra chanting, with Black Iron forged around it. It could slice through iron like mud and even slay bodiless ghosts. Unfortunately, after I offended the Purple Cloud Palace, I had to fake my death to escape. I had no choice but to abandon it in the wilderness..."
Pan Long smiled. "The Purple Cloud Palace offended the Dharma Venerable a while back and has been ordered to close its gates and reflect on its mistakes. It shouldn't be hard to get that sword back now."
Pan Lei shook his head, his expression wistful.
That Redflame Sword had accompanied "Left-Hand Sword" Jin Biao through years of wandering the Martial World. Wherever the man went, the sword went with him. In the end, Jin Biao had died in the wilderness, his remains torn apart by wild beasts. Only the long sword had stayed intact, proof of his death.
Though he had staged it all, he truly had no intention of letting Jin Biao appear in the Martial World again.
Jin Biao was dead. The Redflame Sword should pass away with him.
He knew, of course, that the man who found Jin Biao's body had taken the sword. In return, he had buried Jin Biao and erected a gravestone.
That Jin Biao had been a fake, but the burial had been real enough.
Now the Redflame Sword was in the hands of the wandering hero who had buried "Jin Biao." Perhaps that was fate.
Pan Long didn't understand his father's thinking, but seeing