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... fficially used the sword.
The spiritual fog of Ziwei Peak fell gently, with the clouds drifting in midair. Han Ye, with his hand on the hilt of his sword, stood in the center, his long hair scattered with the fog.
He tried hard to recall the scenes of Chu Xianyu unsheathing her sword, that razor-sharp penetration, the indescribable and unfathomable sword intent, and the feeling of it genuinely appearing before him.
True Qi around Han Ye transformed into a whirl and converged ...
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