The sword that cleaved the great river and slew Yuan Yingzi's flesh had never again been called forth by Shu Guan.
No matter how much he tried, he could not find that sensation again.
But now, that feeling had returned.
A moment of enlightenment flashed through Shu Guan's heart, then the peach-wood sword in his sleeve slid into his palm.
His spiritual power circulated faster and faster, driven by his emotions.
Shu Guan knew he could unleash that divine strike once more.
By then, he had already closed in to within five or six hundred meters of the submarine.
Just at that moment, something round and pitch-black shot out from the tail of the submarine.
It was a torpedo.
Indeed, as the submarine possessed a speed impossible for ordinary submarines, so too did the torpedo that emerged from it fly at a terrifying pace.
Shu Guan had just seen the torpedo when in the blink of an eye, it had already traveled the five or six hundred meters to stand before him.
