Face Slapping
"Scrap metal?" He Chuan said coldly.
Zhao Zheng nodded proudly, showing off.
Based on his many years of experience, he could tell that this short sword was not even an ordinary weapon, let alone a spiritual weapon.
Anything that contained treasures, no matter how they were covered, would not be as simple as it looked.
What more a Spirit Weapon!
As an existence that surpassed Mortal Weapons, Spirit Weapons had their own sharpness. Coupled with the fact that martial artists used them all year round, the spiritual energy left on them made them even sharper.
"It would not be covered up no matter how many years it was buried."
"Looking at the short sword in He Chuan's hand, besides the thick rust, there was no sharp edge!"
"If you didn't return it now, the ten thousand silver taels would be a waste!"
He Chuan did not refute. He put away the short sword and turned to leave.