Wen Ying couldn't help but frown. "Can't the stench be removed?"
Loli, "..."
'Why must she treat a cute little blade like me this way?'
"No..." Loli answered, her voice soft. She was clearly speaking slowly on purpose, afraid that with the slightest sign of displeasure, her true form would be crushed.
Her voice carried a hint of grievance, but unfortunately for her, Wen Ying, who had seen her true form, felt no pity for the "damsel in distress."
The scythe's shape was a complete imitation of the Death God Scythe.
Its long handle was faintly visible, wreathed in a black mist. The blade, shaped like a crescent moon, glinted with a sharp light.
The blade and handle were both engraved with a chaotic jumble of patterns, their subjects impossible to discern.
To an ordinary person, it would certainly exude the aura of a death god.
But in Wen Ying's eyes, this scythe was a poor imitation that fell far short of the original.
