"Little brother!"
Miss Second's complexion suddenly turned pale.
"Didn't I tell you to stay down and not to come out even in death?"
"He was very obedient; he really didn't come out even after dying,"
the voice of the eight or nine-year-old child sounded inexplicably old and weary. His gaze slightly downcast, he looked at the sword cultivator with an air of superiority.
"I have obtained his body, inherited his karma, and the matter of vengeance will be handled by me."
"You may as well kneel down and end your own life."
"What nonsense are you spouting!"
The sword cultivator swallowed nervously, his back breaking out in a cold sweat, but his movements were swift—the flying sword that hovered beside him shot out like a flash of lightning.
Clang!
With a single finger, the child blocked the tip of the flying sword, producing a metallic clang.
Another flick of the finger.
