Chen Senran had been thinking before, what kind of knife would he use if Lao Du took action?

Because he had seen Lao Du's hand, it was a pair of hands without calluses, without scars, and was as smooth as jade. The hands of ordinary sword masters, such as Chen Senran himself, on some joints of the tiger's mouth and finger palms

The president has a thick layer of calluses, and a little taller, like the Shadow of the Blade that he had worked with Chen Senran before. Although his hands are already clean, it is almost difficult to see that they are a pair of sword-training people.

But if you look closely, you can still find traces that are difficult for people holding the knife to erase.

Although Chen Senran had never seen Lao Du hold a knife, he had been rushing the car and holding a horse whip, but his hands could still be as clean and smooth as a noble master in the West Coast Manor of Demacia who only needs to touch women all day long.

, even worse.

It can only explain one problem. This old guy’s accomplishment in knife can no longer be described in vague words such as shocking the world.

Then, the knife he used should not be an ordinary knife, but a knife that is so sharp that it makes people feel like their entire body is killed at a glance.

But when Lao Du really pulled the knife out of his arms, Chen Senran was completely stunned, because it was not even ordinary, and could not even be called a knife.

It was almost a piece of iron in the prototype of a polished knife, or a rusted one.

Chen Senran had no doubt that the iron piece was not even capable of cutting a linen rope.

"Do you think it's ridiculous?" He probably felt Chen Senran's surprise. Lao Du, who had always been too lazy to say a word, suddenly became interested this time.

"It's surprising." Chen Senran corrected, "I originally thought..." He said halfway, and wanted to say something, because he knew that the old guy in front of him was amazing. The trace of a sudden flash of energy just now made him feel like he was so angry that the moment he suddenly flashed.

Even though Chen Senran was five yards away from him, he was still a heartbroken cold.

It was like the sharpest knife passing by the spine, briefly but deadly. The hairs on Chen Senran's spine are still standing up.

At such a critical moment, he didn't want to offend this old man who should love swords in such minor sentences, otherwise it would be really not worth the loss.

"You originally thought that I should have a sharp and cold hand, even in such a night, the cold light will splash everywhere. Judging from the appearance, it is definitely a knife produced by a master craftsman?" Lao Du took over the conversation himself.

, asked Chen Senran a question.

Chen Senran was silent for a moment, thinking about what to say to make it more appropriate, but Old Du seemed to not care about Chen Senran's answer at all and had already said it directly.

"I learned to kill at the age of seven, and I was thirteen, and I was thirteen, and I was fighting forty people alone in the wilderness. At the age of eighteen, I was thirty, and I was thirty, and I was thirty, and I was thirty, and I was thirty, and I was thirty, and I was thirty, and I was thirty, and I was thirty, and I was thirty. I was thirty, and I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty. I was thirty.

Du said as he raised his hands, "Take the broken hatchet, the inferior steel knife, the standard saber, and I have also taken the best peerless treasure knife." His hand followed him

The words were slowly turning, as if silently showing the stern and horizontal sword energy left by countless swords over the years.

Chen Senran was still silent. He didn't know what to say. Although the old guy in front of him was just saying something so plainly, the wanton sword aura in those words made him almost take a step back.

"I have used the sword for fifty years. I have seen and used it all. The dark red fog has become thinner and thinner, but Lao Du still has no intention of taking action," but he always feels that those

No matter how good the knife is, it can never be combined with my soul. The knife weapon cannot be spiritual, and it is no different from a waste. So I made this knife myself."

This knife is the rusty iron piece he held with both hands.

"There was once a top Yodel craftsman Brogrand on the mainland. He spent ten years to create a knife, which was extremely sharp and urged to crack the stone. Its blade body was crystal clear, even in the deepest dark night

It can also emit light like the moonlight, which is a peerless one. At that time, the person who loved the sword named it, the beauty under the moon." Lao Du put on the iron piece with his hand, "The knife fell on me later

I used it for a day before throwing it into the knife magazine." His fingers began to stroke the iron piece, from beginning to end, he gently rubbed every rust spot, feeling the thick and coldness, his

The movements are slow and the eyes are soft, as if they are stroking the skin of their lover.

"Beauty under the moon..." Lao Du's hand touched the end of the blade, slowly let go of his hand, and his fingers bent slightly, "A sword like that can dare to call it the moon, beauty, human?" Finally,

The four characters are squeezed out from the gaps of teeth, one character is heavier than the other, and one character is sharper than the other.

The last word of the word, his bent fingers gently flicked on the rusty iron piece.

As the force on the finger spread layer by layer on the iron sheet, the rust that had accumulated for countless years fell like rain, and a light sound rang out from the iron sheet.

Ethereal as the best lyre.

When the last tail sound of the piano dissipated and the rust fell, the entire piece of iron emitted the purest white light at that moment.

The white light pressed over the dark red light, over the dead gray fog, over the dark red fog, and over the dark red fog, pure and clean.

Just like the bright moon.

"Beauty under the moon." Old Du showed off his blade lightly.

That knife was as sharp as before at this moment.

Chen Senran stared at the knife held by Lao Du in his hand. At that moment, the sharpness and beauty of the knife made him even forget to breathe.

The dark red fog was left with only a thin shell, and Karthas's hand holding the old scepter was trembling constantly.

At the end of the power.

Chen Senran was brought back to reality by Kalsas' bad situation. He looked at Lao Du again. If he didn't take action, Kalsas would be in danger.

Lao Du didn't say anything anymore, and his hand holding the knife pulled back slightly.

"Boy, look good." His hand reached the extreme and had accumulated enough strength.

"That's how the knife is used." His whole body leaned forward slightly, and combined with the knife in his hand, he made the most standard hidden knife style.

"Take a knife."

Use the knife. Use the knife backhand.

There are no gorgeous move names, no exaggerated moves.

His voice was hoarse and low, his tone was as quiet as a stagnant, and his hand holding the knife was as steady as a rock.

He just pushed out a knife with his backhand, neither slow nor slow, as gentle and calm as an old monk preaching, as if nothing could be cut.

But his breath was like the natural pleasure of the world moving forward and the river flowing eastward, but it seemed that he had cut all the glory and brilliance of his brutal and fierce for fifty years with just one sword.

One sword, kill all the vicissitudes of life.

Fifty years passed by. Time was like a knife, and the knife was like a time.

One knife is like seeing the heaven and earth.

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This chapter is exhausted. Lao Du, I have finished writing this.
Chapter completed!