Connor's body flew over a dozen feet away, then supported the ground with a sword, knelt on one knee and gasped. The attack of Fang Han just now was so terrible that the purple fire almost burned through his body.

He turned his eyes and looked at the sword in his hand.

At this time, on the sword, there is no bitter frost breath, one by one fierce pits appear in the field of vision, very dazzling, completely without the appearance of the spiritual treasure of heaven, but is the kind of ruined iron that even beggars disdain.

What exactly is this flame?

Heavenly spiritual treasure is already a treasure....