Aha... this familiar scent.
With his hands raised, a motion resembling both a stretch and an embrace of the sun, Fu Qian leisurely walked through the fourth floor of the Sword Pavilion that had been restored to its original state.
It was not an illusion; every high-grade collection from the Swordsmanship Department was intact, including the one that had vaporized half of his arm.
Fu Qian stopped in front of a familiar short sword, carefully examining it.
To be honest, its appearance was utterly unremarkable compared to the others—even its interior was.
Standing here now, it was just an ordinary piece of Mortal Iron, utterly indescribable of the god-slaying power from earlier.
Everything seemed like an illusion, provided you returned my arm.
There was nothing much to see; Fu Qian looked away, observing his still bare elbow.
The Incense Fire Axe had just been casually thrown in the warehouse, so even in his other hand, it was equally empty.
