"Clang—"
The Demon Sword slid out of its sheath, and inscribed on its curved blade was the somewhat melancholic line of poetry "A Night of Spring Rain in a Small Tower."
However, this sword was anything but melancholic. As soon as it was unsheathed, killing intent flooded out, and a strange magic power spread from the right hand with which Qing Yu was holding the hilt, infiltrating his heart.
"Heh."
Qing Yu chuckled, releasing the protection of "Ten Thousand Paths," allowing this peculiar and demonic force to surge within him.
"It is said that the Crescent Moon Curved Saber possesses a demonic nature, and whoever owns it will feel its influence, except the highly wise or those with genuine emotions and nature. Now, it seems that this saying is somewhat biased."
While the demonic force spread within his Sea of Consciousness, Qing Yu still admired the line of poetry on the blade, absorbed in his own thoughts.
