Trafford's Trading Club

At this moment, the man abruptly turned around, his hands stained with blood as he swung an ancient longsword, sending a massive crescent arc soaring with thunderous force!

The sword light instantly split the vast barren land—only to be effortlessly caught by a white hand.

With a slight exertion of the fingertips, this white hand not only caught the sword light but even crushed it.

The man atop the corpse pile wasn’t angry or shocked, but instead unusually happy, he leaped down and rushed forward, “Ms. You Ye, please take me away from this damned place! Sister Eighteen really set me up here!”

“But you’ve achieved quite an impressive result, haven’t you?” You Ye smiled slightly, “It seems you’ve almost mastered the power of the Zhan Lu Sword.”

“I just want to take a bath…” Da Zhe, his eyes bloodshot, grimaced, “And then get some sleep.”

“Let’s go, the master requires your presence.”