A sword with twelve sharp edges—each thrust piercing the body of a cultivator in the Dao-Seeking Realm.
With such sword techniques and combat strength, the remaining two members of the Hao Tie Dao Sect turned deathly pale.
Han Muye pointed the sword edge forward, and his voice rang out, "Scram."
It was that same word "scram."
When he had first uttered it, the three members of the Hao Tie Dao Sect had sneered in disdain, but now, the remaining two felt as if they had been granted a reprieve.
Ignoring the corpses of their comrades, the two turned and fled in desperate haste.
Han Muye sheathed his sword and took a step forward.
Zhang Mingyuan followed him without a moment's hesitation.
That single strike from Han Muye had filled him with utmost admiration.
If he could master that one stroke, his combat strength would increase by at least fifty percent!
