Chen Senran had been thinking about what kind of knife he would use if Lao Du made a move.

Because he had seen Lao Du's hands, they were a pair of hands with no calluses, no scars, and as smooth as jade. The hands of ordinary knife masters, such as Chen Senran himself, will have a very thick layer of accumulated calluses on some joints of the tiger's mouth and fingers, and a little higher, like the blade shadow Tyrone who has worked with Chen Senran before, although his hands are already clean, it is almost difficult to see that it is a pair of knife practitioners' hands, but if you look closely, you can still find some traces that are difficult to erase by those who hold knives.

Although Chen Senran had never seen Lao Du hold a knife, he had been driving a car and holding a horsewhip, but his hands could still be kept as clean and smooth as a noble lord in a West Coast Manor in Demacia who only needed to touch women all day long, and even more so.

It can only explain one problem, this old guy's attainments in knives can no longer be described by cheesy words such as shocking the world.

Then, the knife he used should definitely not be an ordinary knife, but a knife so sharp that people would feel that their entire body was killed at a glance.

But when Lao Du really pulled the knife out of his arms, Chen Senran was completely stunned, because it wasn't even ordinary at all, and it couldn't even be called a knife.

It was almost a piece of iron in the rudimentary form of a polished knife, still rusty.

Chen Senran had no doubt that the piece of iron lacked even the ability to cut a flax rope.

"Think it's ridiculous?" Probably feeling Chen Senran's stunned, Lao Du, who has always been too lazy to say a word to Chen Senran, suddenly became interested this time.

"It's surprise." Chen Senran corrected, "I originally thought it was ......" He said halfway, and stopped talking, because he knew that the strength of this old guy in front of him was amazing, and the trace of knife aura that flashed at that moment just now made Chen Senran feel cold to the bone even if he was five yards away from him.

It was like the sharpest knife swept through the spine, short but deadly, and the cold hairs on Chen Senran's back still stood on end.

At such a critical moment, he didn't want to offend this old man who should love knives very much in words and subsections, otherwise it would really outweigh the losses.

"You originally thought that I should take a sharp and cold knife, even in a night like this, and it is definitely a knife made by a master craftsman, right?" Lao Du himself took over the conversation and asked Chen Senran rhetorically.

Chen Senran was silent for a moment, thinking about how to say it properly, but Lao Du didn't seem to care about Chen Senran's answer at all, and had already said it directly.

"I learned to use a knife at the age of seven, at the age of thirteen I carried a knife to kill, at the age of eighteen I fought alone with forty people in the wilderness, and at the age of thirty I was in front of a thousand armies with a sword as if there was no one. I ...... my hands," Lao Du said, raising his hands, "I've taken broken firewood knives, inferior steel knives, standard sabers, and the best peerless knives." His hand slowly rotated with his words, as if he was silently displaying the vertical and horizontal sword qi left by the countless knives in those many years.

Chen Senran was still silent, he didn't know what to say, although the old guy in front of him was just saying something so plainly, but the wanton knife aura in those words made him almost take a step back.

"I've been using a knife for fifty years, and I've seen and used all kinds of domineering and brilliant knives with killing intent." The dark red mist has become thinner and thinner, but Lao Du still has no intention of making a move, "But I always feel that no matter how good those knives are, they can never be combined with my soul, and the knives cannot be channeled, and they are no different from waste, so I made this knife myself." ”

This knife was the rusty piece of iron he held in both hands.

"There was once a top yodeling craftsman on the continent, Brogland, who spent ten years of hard work to create a knife, incomparably sharp, golden cracked stone, its blade is crystal clear, even in the deepest dark night, it can emit light like moonlight, which is peerless, and the people who love knives at that time named it, Beauty Under the Moon." Lao Du's hand rested on the piece of iron, "The knife later fell into my hand, and I threw it into the knife warehouse after a day." His fingers began to caress the piece of iron, and from beginning to end, he carefully rubbed every rust spot, feeling the roughness and coldness, his movements slow, his eyes soft, as if caressing his lover's skin.

"Beauty under the moon......" Lao Du's hand touched the end of the blade, slowly let go of his hand, and his fingers curled slightly, "Such a knife, dare to call it the moon, the bottom, the beauty, and the people?" "The last four words are squeezed out of his teeth one by one, one word heavier than the other, and each word sharper than the other.

At the end of the sentence, his curled fingers flicked lightly on the rusty piece of iron.

As the strength of that finger spread layer by layer on that piece of iron, the rust that had accumulated for an unknown number of years rained down, and a soft sound sounded from that piece of iron.

Ethereal as the best lyre.

When the last note of the piano dissipated, the rust fell, and the whole piece of iron emitted the purest white light at that moment.

The white light overpowered the dark red light, the dead gray fog, the dark red mist, pure and clean.

Just like the moon.

"Beauty under the moon." Lao Du lightly stretched his blade.

That knife, at the moment, was as sharp as ever.

Chen Senran looked at the knife held by Lao Du in a daze, at that moment, the sharpness and beauty of the knife made him even forget to breathe.

The dark red mist was reduced to a thin shell, and Calthas's hand holding the old scepter was already trembling.

The end of the crossbow.

Chen Senran was pulled back to reality by the bad situation of Karthus, and he looked at Lao Du again, if he didn't make a move, Karthas might be more than lucky.

Lao Du didn't speak again, and his hand holding the knife pulled back slightly.

"Boy, look at it." His hand was stretched to the extreme, and he had already accumulated enough strength.

"That's how the knife is used." His whole body leaned forward slightly, and with the knife in his hand, he made the most standard Tibetan knife pose.

"Out of the knife."

Out of the knife. Backhand.

No flashy move names, no exaggerated moves.

His voice was hoarse and low, his tone was as still as stagnant as water, and his hand holding the knife was as steady as a rock.

He just pushed out a knife with his backhand like that, not hurried, gentle and indifferent, like an old monk preaching, it seemed that it was impossible to cut anything.

However, his breath seemed to be moving forward in the world, and the river flowed naturally and smoothly, but it seemed that he had cut off his fifty years of glory with a single sword.

One knife, cut all the vicissitudes of life.

Fifty years have flown by. Time is like a knife, and a knife is like years.

A knife is like seeing heaven and earth.

——————

This chapter is exhausted, Lao Du, this person, I have exhausted my pen when I write this.

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