"He who kills, shall be killed!"
Ye Qiu held the Kusanagi Sword, and his presence was ennobled with the handsome aura of a gentleman wielding a blade.
The Kusanagi Sword, double-edged with a groove running down the center, had slain five individuals without a single drop of blood clinging to it, as if it were a new sword freshly forged from the furnace.
Ozawa Ichiro's demeanor was ferocious, and in his anger, his True Qi turned exceedingly turbulent, like a wild wind whipping through the mine tunnel.
Ye Qiu advanced with his sword drawn, feeling the pleasure of the blade thirsting for blood. It seemed to be a demonic sword that grew increasingly sharp with the more blood it saw.
Shua shua!
The sword's cold light shone, illuminating the mine.
