The shrieking of one thousand blood-wraiths sounded like rusty nails scraping across bronze bells.
High above the northern ring of the capital, the demonic tornado of corrosive corpse-mist expanded until it eclipsed the stars. The temperature dropped so fast that moisture in the air froze into black needles of frost.
At the front of the airborne formation, Sword Fairy Chu Lingxiao hovered in the violent gale.
Her white silk dress billowed around her slender frame. Her right hand held the Rank 3 Millennium Cold-Iron Sword at an angle, pointing toward the swirling mass of ghosts. But the freezing mist was already coating the blade in greasy black soot.
Chirrrk.
Another hairline crack spread across the frosty metal, right above the guard.
The heavy star-iron relic from the underground auction was still resting in the courtyard array to complete its seal-tempering. Tonight, she carried the Rank 3 cold-iron sword that had served her faithfully since Jiangnan. Facing the dark energy of a Quasi-Rank 5 Blood-Soul Banner, the structural matrix of the Rank 3 blade was pushed far past its breaking point.
Two years ago, when she was unjustly banished from Mount Qingcheng, her former sect had stripped her of her master’s legacy sword. Arrogant elders had tossed this battered iron blade at her feet, mocking her as a fallen disciple who would never touch high-grade celestial steel again.
