The weapon reached the one-armed man's hand, and he felt for the mechanism at the top, pressing it gently. Instantly, a blade shot out from one end of the cylinder, its cold light piercing and clear.
With a casual swing or two, the one-armed man suddenly twisted his arm and stabbed towards the wall of the guest room. In an instant, the blade easily penetrated the wall to a depth of a foot.
"Not bad," the one-armed man nodded affirmatively, saying, "Several hundred years old and still this sharp, indeed it's impressive, the person who forged this weapon must have been a grandmaster."
Ling Chen's face lit up with joy at the one-armed man's praise, confirming to himself that he had a unique eye for quality.
"It shouldn't be just that simple," Qiu Yong remarked from the side: "Judging from Liu Yunsong's demeanor earlier, he seemed quite reluctant to part with this weapon."
Ling Chen nodded; he had also noticed this detail.
