Within a few breaths, I had caught up to the banner and the black-robed figure. Seeing an enemy, my eyes burned with hatred. I didn't waste a single word; I swung my spirit sword and attacked, every move a desperate strike.
After ten exchanges, my spirit sword was actually snapped in two by that banner. Because I was fighting with such ferocity, I was constantly on the offensive, and my spirit sword was merely a mass-produced item. The quality of that banner, however, seemed far superior to my weapon.
Having grown accustomed to sword techniques over time, I felt utterly uncomfortable without a blade in hand. I pulled out another spirit sword, but it shattered in two or three strikes. My fighting style was far too aggressive—a suicidal approach with zero defense and no evasion. This mundane spirit sword was clearly no match for that banner, which only stoked my fury further.
Chapter 475