Winter of Death glanced at Zhou Leng, who was healing, extended his claw, picked up the Star-slaying Sword, and held it before him for a closer look.
"Worthy of His Majesty the True King's sword, very strong, but too small, not even enough to pick teeth..." He shook his head and put it back.
From afar, the Giants watched Winter of Death with fear.
Only Li Shenkong stared at the Star-slaying Sword, his expression complex.
What kind of power did Zhou Leng inject into the Star-slaying Sword?
What if the Star-slaying Sword doesn't recognize him anymore?
What if he can't get it back?
His whole body was wounded, yet he couldn't calm down, couldn't sleep, couldn't even focus on channeling power, just endured the agony.
After a whole three hours, Zhou Leng opened his eyes, put away the icy divine armor, and looked at his body.
The injuries had somewhat healed, but full recovery would take several more days.
"Why are you here?" Zhou Leng looked at Winter of Death.
