At this time, Song Shuhang was lying flat on the layer of light surrounding the flying sword; he didn’t look handsome in the least.
The harsh reality had reminded Song Shuhang time and time again of its brutality, continuously destroying his dream of ‘riding a flying sword’.
If not for the fact that there was a huge gravitational force on the layer of light, keeping Song Shuhang glued to the sword, he would have long ago fallen due to the excessive speed.
‘Senior White, even if this technique is used to deliver books, you could have added a wind-proof formation! I’m a person, not a book!’ Song Shuhang was on the verge of tears.
Since the sword had become fast to the point of being incurable, Song Shuhang could only rely on his body to resist the wind.
If not for the fact that he was a cultivator of the First Stage with two opened apertures, this speed and the lack of oxygen would have already killed him.
