Millions of soldiers rushed toward Long Chen from every direction, weapons raised, voices howling with mindless bloodlust. The ground shook under their collective footsteps. The air vibrated with their killing intent.
Long Chen's heart hammered against his ribs. The sight was hair-raising, terrifying beyond anything he'd experienced before. An entire army—no, multiple armies—converging on him with the single-minded purpose of ending his life.
He looked down at his hands instinctively, reaching for Demon Dweller—
The cursed blade was gone.
Instead, Long Chen held a different sword. Ancient, black as night, with a simple crossguard and worn grip. But the blade itself seemed to absorb light, drinking in the dim illumination of the battlefield.
And inscribed at the base of the blade, where it met the guard, was a single word in characters that burned with red light:
杀 (Slaughter)
The moment Long Chen's eyes focused on that word, something changed inside him.
