Yamata no Orochi was truly delighted, this kind of happiness even completely diluted the frustration from being slashed by the successor of the Zhan Lu Sword after breaking the seal.
Now it was sitting on a lush green hillside, right beside a cherry blossom tree in full bloom, seemingly never wilting.
However, the Yamata no Orochi sitting here did not have a shred of the elegance of someone admiring the cherry blossoms.
It was still in the form it had taken after devouring the unfortunate Shuten Doji—a breathtakingly beautiful man, every aspect was enchanting, except for those serrated teeth that utterly destroyed the beauty.
But the continuous flow of fresh blood from its mouth... perhaps leaned towards a kind of bloodthirsty aesthetic?
Yamata no Orochi was holding an arm torn from some monster, biting into it with wide-open jaws—behind it, a large pile of corpses of evil ghosts, the Myriad Gods, reincarnated monsters, and samurai lay stacked like a small mountain.
