Twelve flying swords, all deviated in direction, barely brushed past Wu Mo.
Hu Guiyi's expression turned somewhat solemn, his hands gesturing seals, as if there was an invisible thread linked between his fingers and the twelve flying swords.
With a pull in his own direction, the twelve flying swords, as though possessing their own consciousness, reversed course and once again flew speedily towards Wu Mo.
From the perspective of those below, twelve flying swords, countless sword lights, were as if a barrage of thunder from all directions incessantly raining down, the light virtually swallowed Wu Mo. Yet from beginning to end, Wu Mo's countenance remained calm, waving the ancient sword in his hand, dissolving all his attacks!
This scene reminded Michael of a line he had heard in a television show during his childhood:
"Let the strong be strong, like a breeze blowing over the hill. Let the rampant be rampant, as the bright moon shines over the great river!"