"Shall I sheathe the Immortal Sword's fragmented image?"
Gu Wen's right hand formed an empty grip, condensing the fragmented image of the Immortal Sword which cast a swath of snow-white light illuminating the interior of the room. The sword's brilliance merely flickered across the table, instantly cleaving it into two halves.
This caught the attention of Yu Hua, who had been dozing off to the side. Her eyes, heavy with sleepiness, focused on Gu Wen.
Gu Wen appeared slightly embarrassed, as he never intended to flaunt the sharpness of the Immortal Sword's fragmented image. It was simply too difficult to control.
For him, the True Sword Dao was like a child wielding a huge hammer—being able to use it decently was already quite good; to ask for more would be excessive.
Sheathing the sword blade, which appeared to be formed of condensed ice and snow, into the scabbard, a subtle friction sound emerged, followed by a click signifying a perfect fit.