“A third wooden sword!” he thought, breathing heavily. Having seen the sword, he knew that he must have it. Including his duplicate sword, it would increase the number of wooden swords he had to four.
As for the origin of this sword, Meng Hao wasn’t sure. But his intuition told him that considering it cost two thousand ultra high-grade Spirit Stones to duplicate, it was obviously beyond ordinary. As for why it hadn’t manifested its true majesty, perhaps it was because he hadn’t acquired enough of them yet.
Meng Hao had the intense sensation that if he did not take advantage of this peculiar situation, then he would never again have a chance to snatch the wooden sword from this bizarre corpse.
Feeling both miserable and happy, he bit down viciously on his tongue, changing directions and shooting toward the corpse. As soon as he neared the burial mound, his hand shot in through one of the cracks and grabbed the wooden sword. As he wrenched it out, he could faintly hear a snarl of profound rage coming from the corpse.
There was no time for any further examination. Meng Hao’s body flickered as he shot toward the volcano in the very center. Almost in the exact moment that he entered it, the pursuing silver line did the same.