Peng Zhenyao shook his head and said calmly, "Invincible Lord, since I have already admitted defeat in the bet, the sword is now yours. As a swordsman—"
"As a swordsman, the sword is our life," Han Muye's cold words echoed like thunder, resonating directly between heaven and earth!
The sword was life!
The sword was the life of a sword cultivator!
Peng Zhenyao, who was already disheartened, widened his eyes and stared at the long sword in front of him, his shoulders trembling.
He slowly raised the hand that had previously hung limply by his side, gripping tightly onto the sword hilt that he had released earlier.
Tears fell from his eyes.
"So, you're my life.
"No, you are a treasure even more precious than my life.
"Just now, I almost lost something more precious than my own life."
Gripping the sword hilt tightly, the decaying and aged aura around Peng Zhenyao gradually dissipated, replaced by a surging spirit.
