In an instant, the sword sheath suddenly burst open, and the hidden silver blade vanished, leaving a streak of brilliance in the night sky, then disappearing into the heavy rain.
The Taoist who lost his treasured sword didn't change his appearance. He still had those indifferent eyes and the long robe of a Taoist. He slowly stood up, raised his hand, and clenched his fist in the downpour.
The rain suddenly froze mid-air as the Taoist stepped forward. As he walked towards the curtain of rain, the once-stagnant droplets wove together before his arrival, forming a two-meter-long giant sword. The hilt landed perfectly in his open palm, tightly gripped, tearing through the night and unleashing Spiritual Energy in all directions.
The sword was a weapon of slaughter. Someone was killed.
