Every swing of the sword brought Fan Wubing abundant rewards.
This fat pig was constantly eating, and always the finest fodder. Though his cultivation was similar to Qin San's, the blood energy within him was tenfold richer. But this fat pig lacked the ability to convert this blood energy into combat power, unable to defend his own flesh, he was simply waiting to be slaughtered!
Light and shadow flashed, and every swordstroke was bloody.
Fan Wubing's speed was too fast, and it kept increasing. Within a breath, he could unleash hundreds of sword strikes. Each strike brought him nearly a hundred million points of blood profit.
Zhang Yi, on the other hand, was completely different. His mountain-like bulk had been whittled down to a tragic state.
