Only fond of the sword... The Sword Saint's gaze grew fleeting, and for a moment, it felt as though time reversed within his eyes.
The same words reverberated, buzzing in his ears.
"Master, I am only fond of the sword..."
Years ago, standing before their master, there were two youths. One chose fame, and the other chose the sword.
The one who chose the sword became the Sword Master, while the one who chose fame ironically became the Sword Saint.
Such is the way of the world—inevitably laced with irony.
The Sword Saint fell silent, saying nothing more. He knew that the other party's refusal wasn't because they were unwilling to resolve the grudge. After all, in the face of such temptation, even deep animosity should be no reason to refuse—unless, they genuinely had no interest.
Beside him, the Sword Master glanced at Lin Qingyue. This young girl who followed Li Hao merely seemed agreeable to him, nothing more than a passing thought.
