Suddenly opened his eyes, his expression subtly changed.
Thousands of crossbow bolts were frozen in the air.
Visible ripples in the air oscillated in circles and soon subsided.
The person surrounded in the center did not draw his sword. He calmly rolled up his sleeves slightly, revealing wrist injuries covered with bandages, and his arm scarred by a waist saber from the Xiongnu Tribe king. The mix of blood and medicine created a complex scent.
Then he stretched out his right hand, holding a still quivering arrow, and exerted a slight force, the arrow turned to dust.
The old man was inwardly shaken.
Wang Anfeng was calm, looking at the longsword embedded in the ground, firmly locked in the sword scabbard.
"Who told you that without the divine weapon, Wang Anfeng is worthless?"
The old man's expression suddenly changed.
"What? You..."
Wang Anfeng's breath circulated, his qi mechanism surging up.
"You should take a good look."
