The air screamed as thirty-five pounds of star-steel broke the sound barrier.
At six hundred degrees, the Dragon-Severing Blood Cleaver didn’t merely cut the wind. It ignited the sky oxygen along its path. A trailing streak of blinding white star-fire roared in the blade’s wake, lighting up the swirling crimson dust storm with the bright glare of high noon.
Lu Chen drove his weight forward, turning on his left iron heel.
Sweep one: A low, sweeping level crescent.
The four-foot blade traced an arc of two hundred and ten degrees, barely three feet above the surface of the dune.
The edge struck three mummified saints at the same time at the waist.
There was zero moving pushback.
The six-hundred-degree heat edge flashed through stone-hard bone, ancient salt-crusted clothes, and withered spinal columns with the ease of a red-hot iron rod shearing through curdled animal fat.
