let go of my anne

Chen Senran had been thinking about what kind of knife Lao Du would use if he made a move.

Because he had seen Lao Du's hands, they were a pair of hands without calluses, without scars, as clean as jade.The hands of ordinary knife masters, such as Chen Senran himself, will have a thick layer of calluses on the joints of the tiger's mouth and palms. Ying Tailong, although his hands can be called clean, it is almost hard to tell that they are the hands of a knife practitioner, but if you look carefully, you can still find some traces that the knife holder has always been difficult to erase.

Although Chen Senran has never seen Lao Du holding a knife, he has been driving a cart and holding a whip, but his hands can still be kept clean and smooth like a nobleman who only needs to touch women all day long in a manor on the west coast of Demacia. , even more so.

It can only explain one problem. This old guy's accomplishments in knives can no longer be described with vulgar words such as shocking the world.

Then, the knife he used should definitely not be an ordinary knife, but a knife so sharp that people would feel that the whole body was killed at a glance.

But when Lao Du really pulled the knife out of his arms, Chen Senran was completely stunned, because it wasn't even considered an ordinary knife at all, and it couldn't even be called a knife.

It was almost a polished piece of iron, the prototype of a knife, and it was still rusty.

Chen Senran had no doubt that that piece of iron was not even capable of cutting a flax rope.

"Do you think it's ridiculous?" Probably because he felt Chen Senran's astonishment, Lao Du, who had always been too lazy to say a word to Chen Senran, suddenly became interested this time.

"I was surprised." Chen Senran corrected, "I thought..." He was halfway through speaking, but he hesitated, because he knew very well that the strength of the old guy in front of him was astonishing. Even though Chen Senran was five yards away from him, he was still chilled to the bone.

It was like the sharpest knife passing across the spine, short but deadly, the hairs on Chen Senran's back are still standing on end.

At this critical moment, he didn't want to offend this old man who was supposed to love knives in terms of words, otherwise it would really be worth the candle.

"You originally thought that I should be holding a knife that is sharp and sharp, and even in such a night, the cold light splatters everywhere. Judging from its appearance, it must be a knife made by a master craftsman?" Old Du himself took over the conversation. , asked Chen Senran a question.

Chen Senran was silent for a while, and was thinking about how to say something more appropriate, but Lao Du seemed to not care about Chen Senran's answer at all, and had already continued directly.

"I learned swordsmanship at the age of seven, and killed people with a sword at the age of 13. I fought 40 people in the wilderness alone, and when I was 30 years old, I swung my sword in front of a thousand troops and acted as if no one was there. My hands..." Lao Du said while He raised his hands up, "I have taken the broken hatchet, the inferior steel knife, the standard saber, and I have also taken the top-grade peerless sword." His hands were slowly turning according to his words , as if silently showing the vertical and horizontal saber aura left by countless knives in those many years.

Chen Senran was still silent, he didn't know what to say, although the old guy in front of him was just talking so plainly, but the wanton sword spirit in those words made him almost take a step back.

"I have used knives for 50 years. I have seen and used any kind of overbearing and brilliant knives." The dark red mist has become thinner and thinner, but Lao Du still has no intention of making a move. No matter how good it is, it still can’t be combined with my soul, the knife can’t communicate with spirits, it’s no different from waste, so I made this knife myself.”

This knife is the rusty piece of iron that he holds in both hands.

"There used to be a top yordle craftsman, Brogrand, on the mainland. He spent ten years of hard work creating a knife that was unparalleled in sharpness. It can also emit light like the moonlight, which can be called peerless. People who love knives at that time named it "Beauty under the Moon." Lao Du put his hand on the piece of iron, "The knife fell on me later. In my hand, I used it for a day and threw it into the knife magazine." His fingers began to caress the piece of iron, from beginning to end, he stroked every rust spot carefully, feeling the roughness and coldness, his The movements are slow and the eyes are soft, as if stroking the lover's skin.

"The beauty under the moon..." Lao Du touched the end of the blade with his hand, and slowly let go of his hand, his fingers curled slightly, "How dare you call such a knife called "Moon, Xia, Beauty, Human?" Finally He squeezed out the four characters one by one through the gap between his teeth. Each character was heavier and sharper than the other.

With the last chevron exit, his crooked fingers lightly flicked on the rusty iron piece.

As the strength of that finger spread layer by layer on that piece of iron, the rust that had accumulated for an unknown number of years fell like rain, and a light sound resounded from that piece of iron.

Ethereal as the best lyres.

When the last tail of the piano sound dissipated and the rust was gone, the whole piece of iron emitted the purest white light at that moment.

That white light overwhelmed the dark red light, overwhelmed the dead gray mist, overwhelmed the dark red mist, pure and clean.

Just like the bright moon.

"The beauty under the moon." Old Du stretched out his blade lightly.

That knife, at this moment, is as sharp as ever.

Chen Senran stared blankly at the knife in Lao Du's hand. At that moment, the sharpness and beauty of the knife made him forget to breathe.

Only a thin shell remained of the dark red mist, and Karthus' hand holding the old scepter was already trembling.

The end of the crossbow.

Chen Senran was brought back to reality by Karthus's bad situation, he looked at Lao Du again, if he didn't make a move, Karthus would be in danger.

Lao Du didn't speak any more, and his hand holding the knife slightly pulled back.

"Kid, look after it." He pulled his hand to the limit, and he had already accumulated enough strength.

"Knife, that's how it's used." His entire body leaned forward slightly, and in conjunction with the knife in his hand, he made the most standard Tibetan knife pose.

"Out with the knife."

Out of the knife.Backhand knife.

There are no fancy move names, no exaggerated movements.

His voice was hoarse and deep, his tone was as calm as stagnant water, and his hand holding the knife was as steady as a rock.

He just pushed out the saber with his backhand in a flat manner, calmly and calmly, like an old monk preaching scriptures, as if it was impossible to cut anything.

But what he did in one go was as if the world was moving forward, and the river flowed eastward, but it seemed that he had cut off his raging 50 years of brilliance with a single blow.

One knife cuts all vicissitudes.

50 years passed in a hurry.Years are like knives, and knives are like years.

One knife, as if seeing heaven and earth.

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This chapter has been written exhaustingly, Lao Du, I have exhausted my pen strength after writing this.

Ask for counting.