Saber beams filled the sky and the ground, and the coldness was oppressive.
Feng Jing, several hundred meters away, was terrified.
This battle method was very different from that of the ancient races.
Is this the power of a connate divine weapon? Feng Jing was eager to try.
He also had a connate divine weapon, but when he used it, its power seemed to be far inferior to the saber in Zhou Shu's hand.
Try it? A thought appeared in Feng Jing's mind. As soon as this thought appeared, he couldn't control it anymore.
Feng Jing wished he could slap himself. This didn't match his cautious style.
But he couldn't resist the urge.
Swish—
The Eight-Sided Wind Rope transformed into a silver dragon and flew out of his hand, whipping at a red-furred monster.
"Little Brother, you're really killing me." Feng Jing sighed.
