What do you mean by saying that the corpses I sew are all ominous creatures?

The same burly man with a fierce face and bare chest opened the door.

As he opened the door, he was also carrying a pair of large iron pliers that were at least half a meter long.

He glanced at us warily, but when his gaze fell on Jin Wanliang's round face, his guardedness lessened slightly, and he stepped aside to make way for us.

"Master Huo is inside waiting for the stove."

The burly man said something in a muffled voice.

We stepped inside and looked around; it was still the same familiar environment.

In the center of the huge, empty workshop stands a massive iron-smelting furnace.

The fire in the stove was burning brightly, and the orange-red flames illuminated the entire space.

A thin, old man sat in an old rattan chair not far from the stove.

It was Old Man Huo.

At this moment, he was holding a purple clay teapot in his hand, slowly sipping the tea from the spout.

"Master Huo, it's been a long time. You're still as healthy as ever."

Jin Wanliang approached with a smile and casually took out an exquisite wooden box from his pocket and placed it on the table next to him.

"I just had someone get me a few ounces of top-quality Da Hong Pao tea, just to soothe your throat, sir."

Seeing this, I raised an eyebrow slightly.

These tea leaves were just on the table where we were drinking tea, weren't they? That Jin Wanliang, he really is…

They are good at handling things.

Old Huo slightly raised his eyelids, glanced at the wooden box, and snorted:

"Fatty Jin, don't try that on me."

You wouldn't come to my place without a reason. You've come to my junkyard so late at night, you must have some bad intentions.

"Tell me, what weird and wonderful thing do you want me to fight this time?"

"Look at you, I've come here specifically to deliver a big deal to you."

Jin Wanliang pointed at me.

"You should still remember my brother Chen, right? It was you who went to the trouble of reforging that willow-leaf dagger last time."

Old Huo then turned his head and looked me up and down with his somewhat cloudy old eyes.

His brow furrowed sharply when his gaze swept over the guitar bag on my back.

At the same time, the previously lazy sitting posture instantly became tense.

"Such heavy Yin energy... No, it's mixed with blood evil that hasn't dissipated for a hundred years."

Old Huo put down the purple clay teapot in his hand, stood up, and stared intently at the guitar case on my back.

"Kid, you've got a deadly weapon in that bag."

I smiled calmly, said nothing, and walked straight over to place the guitar case on a large anvil not far from the stove.

"This thing is too fierce. I don't feel at ease keeping it at home, and it's inconvenient to take it out."

So I came here today specifically to see Master Huo, hoping you could help me forge a special scabbard that can suppress its malevolent energy.

As I spoke in a leisurely tone, I reached out and unzipped the guitar case.

As the zipper slid open, the black canvas slipped to the sides, revealing a jet-black knife inside.

The moment the black knife was completely exposed to the air, the temperature in the entire workshop seemed to drop by more than ten degrees.

A visible chilling aura, mixed with intense bloodlust, spread wildly outwards from the anvil.

Even the blazing iron smelting furnace seemed to be suppressed by an invisible hand.

The flames suddenly shot downwards, their color changing from orange-red to an eerie dark red.

The burly man's apprentice, who opened the door, was so overwhelmed by the murderous aura that he staggered back three or four steps, his face turning pale.

The pliers in his hand also fell to the ground with a "clang".

Although Old Man Huo was not repelled by this malevolent aura, his wrinkled face became unusually solemn.

He took a deep breath, and at the same time, the veins on his right arm bulged as he strode to the anvil.

"Good heavens... how many people's blood must it have drunk, how many years of the earth's yin energy must it have absorbed to nurture such an unparalleled and deadly weapon."

Old Huo's eyes gleamed with the kind of fanatical light that a craftsman has when he sees a top-tier weapon.

Instead of reaching for the knife directly with his hands, he picked up a pair of specially made long-handled iron pliers with intricate runes engraved on their surface from the side.

He gripped the handles of the pliers with both hands, carefully clamping the middle section of the black knife's blade, attempting to lift it up for a closer look.

However, just as the pliers clamped the blade...

The black blade seemed to sense the touch of an unfamiliar aura, and a buzzing sound, like the low growl of a wild beast, suddenly emanated from within its blade.

Immediately afterwards, a violent surge of bloodthirsty energy erupted like a volcanic eruption, rushing back towards Old Man Huo's hands through the iron pincers.

A thick layer of white frost instantly formed on the surface of the pliers, emitting a sickening metallic twisting sound.

Old Huo grunted and suddenly planted his feet firmly on the ground in a horse stance.

At the same time, the muscles in his right arm instantly swelled to their limit, forcefully resisting the murderous aura that was trying to overturn him, and gripping the iron clamp tightly, refusing to let go.

But the fine beads of sweat on his forehead were enough to show that he was under tremendous pressure at that moment.

"Master Huo, be careful."

Upon seeing this, I immediately took half a step forward and extended my right hand.

The evil energy in my dantian turned slightly, and a wisp of evil energy flowed out from my fingertips.

I gently touched the hilt of the black knife, which was wrapped in animal hide, with two fingers.

The moment this wisp of malevolent energy touched the blade, the black sword, which had been struggling and resisting wildly, fell silent instantly, like a venomous snake whose vital point had been seized.

The violent, bloodthirsty aura that had been spreading outwards quickly receded back into the blade like a tide, and the temperature in the workshop began to slowly rise.

Old Huo felt the pressure on his hand decrease sharply, and then he let out a long breath and put the black knife back on the anvil.

He loosened the clamps, wiped the sweat from his face with the towel draped around his neck, and looked at me with an undisguised shock.

"Kid, your cultivation level... is truly hidden."

The bloodlust within this knife must have been nurtured by the resentment of at least a thousand people.

"You managed to subdue it all by yourself; I'm truly impressed by your skill today."

Old Man Huo was generous with his praise.

"Mr. Huo, you flatter me. It was just a coincidence."

I withdrew my finger, my tone remaining calm.

"You see, about this scabbard..."

Old Huo did not answer immediately, but instead circled the anvil twice, his eyes fixed on the jet-black blade, his brows gradually furrowing into a deep frown.

The flickering flames in the furnace cast shadows on his weathered face, sometimes bright, sometimes dim.

He would occasionally extend his right arm, feeling the bone-chilling cold emanating from the black knife from a distance.

At the same time, he was muttering some casting jargon that I didn't quite understand.

After a long while, he stopped, turned around, looked at me, and said with an unusually serious expression:

"This job is more difficult than I imagined."