Du Chengfeng received the blood-stained longsword, expressionless.
Right before his eyes, someone uses a sword to kill his subordinate—is this meant to give him a warning, or did the madness have a momentary lapse?
Du Chengfeng wasn't quite sure, but he wasn't very concerned either. Though he was a peace-loving person, desiring nothing more than a quiet life, he didn't particularly enjoy witnessing such scenes of slaughter, but compared to when he hacked through those two hundred barbarian foes, this situation seemed quite insignificant.
"Get someone over here to clean this up, the smell is too strong."
Casually instructing Yang Xuan, Du Chengfeng placed the sword on the whetstone, and began to grind.
Clear water dripped along the blade, flowing away not only the blood but the distant past too.
Although this sword has only killed one person, Du Chengfeng could keenly sense its history.