Cold sweat dripped from their foreheads, then into their mouths. The two middle-aged men did not even wipe it off, unable to taste sour, sweet, bitter, or spicy. Their minds were completely overwhelmed.
That astonishing sword stroke — just a little closer, and they would have already been corpses on the ground, and died in a very gruesome manner.
After a while, the two regained their senses and sighed, "We brothers lost so thoroughly, we have no face to stay here. Today's Sword Appreciation Gathering is no longer our affair."
The two bent down to pick up the broken weapon from the ground, then stepped off the stage, walking out of the crowd, towards the outside of the valley, their backs appearing very desolated. No one laughed at them because everyone else knew what they had just experienced—a brush with death.
"Who still doubts the Hua Ying Sword now?" Xiao Manxue sheathed her sword and stood, coldly gazing at the ancient martial artists below.
