"Cough!"
As his flying sword snapped, Zhou Songhe let out a stifled groan. His face turned deathly pale for an instant before flushing a deep, unnatural red, and he immediately coughed up a spray of blood.
His natal flying sword was tethered to his very soul. While this bond allowed him to channel his intent into the blade and push its power far beyond that of an ordinary weapon, it came with a dire consequence. If an ordinary sword were broken, one would lose nothing more than a tool or magical treasure; but when a natal sword was shattered, it caused direct, reflexive damage to the cultivator's own spirit.
Chapter 435