Zhao Zhijing's eyes opened slightly, and the cold-blooded shadow under the dark night had already fallen into Zhao Zhijing's eyes. At this time, the man in Mai with a sword in front of him had an extraordinary momentum. The ruthlessness and forbearance of the evil wolf in the mountains and the awe-inspiring murderous aura condensed in his body, but it did not drift away, but condensed on the long sword in his hand.

Zhao Zhijing is in a white robe, and there is no wind automatically. One hand has been pressed on the scabbard of the Purple Emperor Sword, the silent true qi is constantly running, and the rich sword intent has been condensed in the scabbard at this time, and he seems to have no guard at all, as long as the long sword is out of the sheath, it will be a shock, and the long sword will be stained with blood.

"Cangchangchang!" The sound of the long sword rubbing against the scabbard sounded in the alley under the dark night, and a trace of cold chill emanated from the cold-blooded side, and Zhao Zhijing, who had an indifferent face, suddenly felt as if he had come to the cold winter, there were thin snowflakes in the sky that could see the light flying, and the water on the ground had condensed into crystal ice cubes at this time, and a chill made the hairs around his body stand up, but the snowflakes here were not white but blood-red.

In the dark night, the four-foot-long soft sword shot out from the wooden scabbard, and suddenly became straight under the infusion of blood-colored true qi, and the sword qi continued to fly at the sharp tip of the sword like a blood-red flame, like a sword that crossed the space, and came to Zhao Zhijing's throat.

Seeing that this white-robed boy was about to fall under this sword, an invisible aura suddenly emanated from Zhao Zhijing's body like a bomb explosion, like a sharp sword with a cold light, and the straight sword body pointed directly at the cold blood stabbed by the sword at this time.

Suddenly, the cold-blooded will tempered by several fierce battles became a little trance in this one. The battle of the masters can be divided in a moment, and the cold blood that has come back to his senses in an instant looks at the eyes like wolf eyes. I saw that the man in the white robe seemed to have no trace of threat, and at this moment he had already escaped from under his long sword, and he was still standing so gracefully one step away.

The cold-blooded hand holding the long sword was still so powerful, without a trace of trembling, without increasing the force, and without weakening the strength of holding the long sword. The sword of failure had no effect on her vulgarity.

Cold-blooded is a child who is being raised by wolves, and everything that belongs to the wolves has been passed on. The wolf is a patient animal, cold-blooded, the defeat of a sword is nothing to him, he does not need defense, nor does he need to stratagon, he only needs to pierce the long sword in his hand into the throat of the enemy at the last moment, and he is still the victorious one if he does not fall.

The figure flickered, the long sword continued to stab out from his hand, there was no slightest defense, only the extreme speed was shown in his long sword, the nameless sword technique was already the most suitable for him after years of tempering, the long sword in his hand was his life, he had always believed that the long sword in his hand would not deceive himself, and the last one standing with the sword was also himself.

Zhao Zhijing's white figure is like a piece of catkins in the wind, and it is also like a flying snowflake. At this moment, the sword pointed directly at him was still so elegant, and his eyes were still so bright. His lips opened slightly, and Zhao Zhijing opened his mouth and said: "Leng Lingqi, you really deserve to be a person who is sincere to the sword, you are not cold-blooded but have given the blood in your heart to the long sword in your hand, I am not as honest as you are for the sword, I am not as good as you!"

In the dark night, the long sword stabbed out again and again, and Zhao Zhijing's hearty voice was still echoing, at this moment it seemed that there were only the two of them in the world, and no one would disturb them at this moment.

With a long roar, resounding through the heavens and the earth, Zhao Zhijing said word by word: "But, you will still be defeated by my sword!"

The words fell, and the purple brilliance was already across Zhao Zhijing's chest without a sound. The Purple Emperor Sword did not have a trace of moves, and naturally stabbed out of his hand.

"Ding-dong!" "Jingle bell!" The crisp sound continued, the purple and blood-red long swords kept colliding in the air, and every sword stabbed out in cold blood would be stopped by the Purple Emperor Sword that Zhao Zhijing waved casually, and none of the swords fell on Zhao Zhijing's throat, making everyone in the rivers and lakes praise the cold-blooded, the nameless but the move was to kill the sword, but he didn't have a trace of gain.

"You also take a sword from me!" Zhao Zhijing, who had not attacked a sword, slowly opened his mouth, and the long sword in his hand was not behind the words. The simple-shaped Purple Emperor Sword seemed to be slowly stabbing out from his hand at this time, but it was not slow at all.

The long sword, which was known for its dexterity and speed, was extremely heavy in Zhao Zhijing's hand at this time, as if he was swinging a thousand catties at this time. It's not that the long sword has become heavy, it's a kind of artistic conception, it's already a kind of momentum, it can be described as the momentum of a heavy sword, something as light as a feather, and it can also wield the same power as a demon pestle.

The sword stabbed out, and the cold blood suddenly felt as if a mountain was pressing in front of him, as if he would turn into meat paste under the squeeze of the mountain in the next moment.

But he is arrogant, perhaps because of the dignity in his heart, or the stubbornness he wants from his body, which makes him resolutely not admit defeat, even if his life is exhausted, he will stab the long sword in his hand.

Blood-red sword lights flickered in the dark night, and suddenly the sound of gold and iron was endless. The one in the cold-blooded hand is not precious, but because of his existence, it is already a rare famous sword in the rivers and lakes, in this short moment, it is like a steel needle constantly clicking on the Purple Emperor Sword.

But the Purple Emperor Sword was like a giant, and the blocking of the breeze and trees did not slow down his steps at all, and he continued to move forward. Tremendous force can crush everything in the road.

Holding the sword in his hand, he kept stabbing out cold blood, and at this time he kept retreating, and every time he stabbed out a sword, he had to retreat a distance. The walls of the alley are getting closer and closer to him, and when he retreats, there will be no way back in the end when the Purple Emperor Sword continues to come out.

If someone sees a cold-blooded sword without regard for his own life at this time, and he is constantly retreating at this time, it is not his willingness, but being forced by others, thinking that there will be people in the rivers and lakes who will be amazed, and he will also feel fear when his blood has become cold?

The long sword approached, and at this time, the cold blood was already leaning against the wall of the alley, and the next moment he would fall under the Purple Emperor Sword. At this moment, the cold-blooded straight body bent slightly, and his figure suddenly became shorter, and the Purple Emperor Sword wiped the hair on his head of an extraordinary color, and gently pointed at the blue brick wall behind him.

is not afraid of death, but no one wants to die without the slightest meaning, avoiding the cold-blooded strength of Zhao Zhijing's heavy sword, at this time there are still some taboos in his heart, although he knows that Zhao Zhijing has no murderous aura in his long sword, but there is still a trace of coolness coming from his back, and there is already a trace of sweat on his back who is not afraid of death.