"Humph, let's see who dares to disrespect my Aunt Wan." The voice of Huang Zhihu echoed, causing ripples in the void. A team of sword cultivators, wielding black armor and blue swords, followed the Dao and lined up.
Black armor, green swords.
Everyone looked solemn.
These 20,000 sword cultivators were Huang Zhihu's direct disciples.
Each of them possessed at least three spiritual treasures and had been practicing sword arts and formations for over eight years.
They used to be the lowest-ranked cultivators in Ten Thousand Magnificence City.
They were once as insignificant as ants.
It was the Phoenix Forest Stronghold that gave them opportunities, and it was the leadership of Commander Zhihu that led them forward.
Their lives did not belong to themselves.
Their swords were their swords.
The sword cultivators gathered into a torrent, rushing into the Dao to protect the Cloud Dragon Pavilion.