The infant Sword Spirit couldn't communicate, and the Dragon Sparrow inside the sword was upset, tears welling up in its eyes, "Idiot, you yourself said that there's one less arrow each time you use one, and yet you fire them off carelessly! You already wasted one saving Wan Dongliu and didn't even pick it up, now you're shooting them randomly, what a waste! You're squandering the family fortune!"
Zhao Changhe, feeling quite majestic on horseback, almost fell off his steed.
Who the hell are you to manage my family affairs?
But then again, thinking back on it, Zhao Changhe did feel a pang of distress himself. There were only about twenty or thirty arrows made from the Dragon Soul Wood, definitely not enough to waste. He could only hope that after winning the battle, it would be relatively easy to recover the two arrows that had fallen near the city.
