The Forest of Death was like a forgotten world. It was cold and lonely.
Although Ou Yangming was trapped in a formation, he was calm and carried a majestic momentum as though he would not change countenance no matter what.
All of a sudden, a voice came from the depths of the formation.
"You're quite a figure indeed; no wonder you were able to kill the Teng family's God-favored sons. But today, since you've fallen into our hands, you'll surely die even if you have three heads and six arms!"
Teng Donglin's face was cold. As he approached the young fellow slowly, it was as if he was walking from the night sky into the sunlight. He was dragging his longsword on the ground. The sword was 1.3 meters long and 7.63 centimeters wide, and it released cold lights in all directions. Even those who did not know the value of the sword would know by taking a look at the Cold Mists Sword that it was a rare spirit tool.
