Alchemy

The blood essence spread, and blood threads interweaved into a net, forming a strange and inexplicable pattern that shone with a red light.

Feng Duxin was enveloped in a cloud of blood mists, and his index finger tapped lightly on the back of the short saber. Afterward, the blood-colored pattern rippled like a tide. His middle finger quickly followed, landing an inch away from his index finger.

This movement was extremely fast, but it did not seem messy at all. On the contrary, it was meticulous.

The process could be seen clearly and each time, the short saber would quickly turn red and give off a strong fluctuation. It even gave off a faint spiritual charm.

This kind of technique gave everyone a pleasant feeling. This was the strength of the Phoenixes' blacksmith. Even Ou Yangming, who was watching from the side, could not help but want to clap his hands and praise.