His parents were poisoned by the Corpse King, and the boy carried a thirty-pound broken halberd on his back and walked three hundred miles to enter the Immortal Sect.
The next second, he was kicked into a pile of scrap metal. Carrying thirty bundles of scrap metal every day wears my shoulders to the bone. The servants in the same room came and went, and the walls were engraved with the last words of their predecessors - "Leave quickly. Don't believe it. Zhou Yuan is a traitor."
He didn't leave. With no one to teach him, he turned the strength of his blacksmithing waist into sword moves. The rust on the broken halberd peeled off piece by piece, and the inscriptions lit up layer by layer. In the outer sect competition, he defeated the enemies with a broken sword picked up from a scrap metal pile.
Everyone thought he was a dark horse. Only he knew - he was a broken halberd that had been sunk in the sand for many years and finally sharpened its edge.
The Corpse King's army pressed on the territory, and the Demon Lord's seal was loosened. And he stood in front of everyone, holding only thirty pounds of scrap metal and a word.
"No retreat."
Mortals are lost, and scrap iron proves the way. The hand that strikes iron can also overturn the law of heaven. Who is cowardly?
