Just a moment ago it was still a statue, utterly motionless and devoid of vitality, yet in the next instant it turned its neck, looking at Shen Hao with a half-smile, half-grimace.
"Clang!"
Without warning, the statue drew the long sword at its waist—seemingly slow yet actually swift—and thrust it toward Shen Hao.
Dodge!
His mind screamed to evade, but he didn't even consider whether he could block the strike. Even though this sword looked plain and unremarkable, without the slightest force, this was the Sword Emperor's Tomb—things that appeared ordinary here were the most dangerous.
But even the idea of dodging was a fantasy. From the very start, this sword carried a tangible aura of suppression—freezing not just the air but the very space itself. Though Shen Hao's mind was shouting "dodge," his body couldn't move at all. He was pinned solidly in place, forced to watch the long sword coming for him, powerless to resist.
