Jiang Wang would not hesitate in combat.
Nearly at the same instant that Zhang Song took a step, Jiang Wang had already soared close with his sword.
Longing shone with a glint of cold light, drawing a straight line across in front of Zhang Song.
Even in disarray, a man of honor does not forsake his grace.
Ten years destitute, with one stroke, old grudges invoked!
This was the sword of the man of honor in decline, where Jiang Wang's edge had become even sharper after integrating the styles he had kept hidden for ten years in Chao Yu.
When the sword arose, the cold light was still turning, but when the man was close, the cold light had already dissipated.
And that horizontal line… had already fallen before Zhang Song.
A single line shall determine life and death.
But at that moment, Zhang Song's eyes suddenly opened wide!
They were eyes as black as the deepest night.
He looked at that horizontal line, his eyes devoid of all emotion, watching the line.
