"Elephant... Dragon..."
Cao Erzhu stared dazedly at the exquisite sword in his hand.
The story of the Elephant Dragon at the pinnacle of craftsmanship brought him too much shock, nearly overturning the understanding of his world for twenty-six years.
Could this sword be created by his father?
Isn't he just a rigid, sullen old man?
He spends his days idly holed up in the blacksmith shop drinking, and yet he understands the beauty of ivory guards, and can weave such interplay between light and dark layered patterns...
How ingenious would such hands need to be?
With those battered calloused hands, untouched by a hammer for twenty years, could he forge this?
The most astonishing thing!
Two or three decades ago, his father could enhance a spiritual sword by three grades, merely through remelting and reforging?
"Hmm——"
His fingertips brushed against the sword's body, and within the Elephant Dragon, an ancient, deep sound resonated—part elephant's rumble, part dragon's roar.
