Mass Production

"Where's your flying sword? Show it to us!"

Ming Han shouted with widened eyes.

"Don't be hasty,"

With a calm expression, Su Zimo hesitated for a moment before controlling one of the flying swords to rise slowly from the Weapon Tripod.

If nobody could see the issue with this flying sword, it would mean that everything would be fine.

If anyone could tell that something was amiss, it would be a joke even if he brought out all 36 flying swords.

Right in front of everyone, a tiny and exquisite flying sword appeared. It was milky white and looked like a thin silver needle.

"What's this?"

"How can that be called a flying sword?"

"Hahahaha, this is clearly an embroidery needle. Did Mo Ling create an embroidery needle so that he can become a seamstress?"

The cultivators of Hellfire Hall mocked.

However, most of the cultivators present did not laugh.