Haha, great, I never thought I, Han Wushang, would have a day to return to the Primordial Sect. The elders, upon hearing this news, would surely be incredulous."
"Come, come, I have a gift for you."
Before Chen Ping could speak, he dragged the still-confused Ninth Disciple into the room, and carefully pulled out a box from under the bed. Opening the box revealed a pitch-black long sword.
The sword is three feet six inches long, three fingers wide, and polished on eight sides.
The sword body has countless scale-like patterns, seemingly born naturally, like dragon fish scales, which can of course be called dragon scales.
"This is the combat sword once wielded by our fifth-generation ancestor Han Chong, who wielded it all over the world. Though unremarkable at first glance, it is forged from the rare iron of a meteor beyond the heavens, weighing two hundred and thirty-eight jin, unusable by most people."
At this point, Han Wushang felt a bit embarrassed.
