Inside a small courtyard far from the grand hall, a group of powerhouse enjoyed the tranquility of the night.
"Quite the sharp tongue," an old woman chuckled.
"Hehe. The kid doesn't know when to stop," an old man added, glancing at Broken Blade.
"Old Blade, why are you supporting them? I don't see anything special about them." His voice carried obvious disdain.
Others nodded, agreeing with him. At their level, such flowery words were insignificant to them.
The Dust Valley Sect had not even been created when they were already dominating the continent. What gave him the courage to spout such nonsense?
Broken Blade looked at his few old colleagues and shook his head. As a rogue cultivator, he understood the difficulty ordinary people and weak sects faced compared to the ancient powers.
To attain his current strength, only he alone knew how difficult it was.
