Countless sword glows suddenly shone within the dense mist.
Chen Changsheng gazed at the mist around him, his left knee slightly bent, his right hand gripping the hilt at his waist as if ready to unsheathe his dagger at any moment.
In reality, countless swords had emerged from his body, slashing at his surroundings. Incredibly sharp sword intent covered the world, slicing the already-ruined courtyard, the rocks on the lakebed, and the forest immersed in snow into countless pieces, but it was unable to hack through the surrounding mist. For some reason, this mist became abnormally deep and black like the night. It was dense and real like the thickest of mud.
The sharpest and most powerful sword intent falling against this black and thick mist could only whirl, struggle, and vanish like a dry leaf falling into the muddy water.
This black mist was no longer purely made of water. It had already been dyed by the purest demonic intent.
