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As Zhao Qingqian’s words fell,
a hush suddenly descended around them, a deep silence.
Whether it was the Demon race or the Dragon and Phoenix clans, all eyes were now fixed on the Wooden Sword in Zhao Qingqian’s hands.
The wooden blade appeared ordinary, with no particularly sharp aura emanating from it, seemingly no threat at all.
But none of the Demons present dared to underestimate this Wooden Sword.
After all, it was related to the Peerless Immor ...
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