A flicker of emotion surfaced in Tang Yuchu's eyes.
She was surprised. Surprised that these ants, as insignificant as dust in her eyes, could remain so calm.
In her long life of cultivation, she had seen far too many people grovel and plead before absolute power.
So, when she witnessed this group's unyielding spirit—a willingness to die rather than submit—she was genuinely taken aback.
Her gaze slowly fell upon the blind man who had dared to draw his sword on her.
Sword Yi was half-kneeling on the ground, blood trickling from his lips, his aura feeble. The longsword that had been his companion for years was now dust, yet he held his spine straight, like a sharp blade that would sooner shatter than bend.
"You," Tang Yuchu began, her voice as cold as ever. "Submit to me. I can bestow upon you the Supreme Sword Dao and even... heal your eyes."
