A cold glint flashed through Qing Chen's eyes when he heard this, but he showed no intention of declining.
If this old man doesn't want it, I do.
Only a fool would turn it down.
With just a slight stir of his will, a ring-pommel saber a little over a foot long shot out of his sea of qi.
The saber was ink-black throughout, but its edge gleamed with a chilling silver light. It was precisely the low-grade magic treasure he had previously looted from the treasury of Lesser Cold Temple on Xuanchi Island.
Its name was Dust Severer.
This was also the last piece of stock he had kept on hand, a fine-quality, low-grade offensive magic treasure that was no worse than Tianhuo's Fire God Sword.
The others had either been given to other people as rewards or sold to the Sect for spirit stones and medicinal pills.
Despite his enormous expenditure, Qing Chen still had a hundred high-grade spirit stones, over twenty thousand middle-grade spirit stones, and a dozen or so bottles of assorted third-tier medicinal pills.
Low-grade spirit stones?
Qing Chen rarely accepted anything that inferior now. He probably still had a few tens of thousands.
Lesser Cold Temple truly lived up to its thousands of years of operation. It did have a little something in its coffers after all.
"Dust Severer, drink blood!"
Qing Chen gave a low shout, and the true essence at his fingertips instantly turned into strands of magnetic light that surged into the blade.
In an instant, the Sanskrit patterns on the Dust Severer saber blazed to life.
They intertwined with the mighty magnetic origin power, forming a twisting, shifting band of light.
The band of light swept forward like a blade splitting bamboo, breaking straight through the magnetic sand force field