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After a while.

The strong man stood up halfway, looked at Song Qingshu and said with disdain.

Song Qingshu didn't look at him, but looked around like a lion.

After Song Qingshu realized that no one dared to attack him, he just turned around to look at the strong man with the epee.

Song Qingshu sneered, and opened his lips indifferently:

"Another sword?"

Hearing this, the strong man in gray armor frowned, then pressed his hands to the ground and stood up tenaciously.

Someone handed over a new epee from behind.

The gray heavy armored man held it expressionlessly, and then pointed his sword at Song Qingshu: "One more sword, you can catch it..."

Not a word.

There was despair and disbelief in the eyes of this gray heavy armored man.

Then he couldn't speak anymore, his throat seemed to be blocked by something.

puff.

The gray heavy armored man spat out a mouthful of blood.

"vomit."

Immediately, the gray heavy armored man half knelt on the ground and vomited another mouthful of blood.

There are residues of internal organs in the blood, which is as black as jade.

And then there is no then.

The gray heavy armored man fell into a pool of blood, paralyzed into a ball of rotten flesh.

Song Qingshu turned his gaze, and said quietly:

"The bones in your body are all broken, but you still try to be brave, how stupid is it?"

There was a dead silence on the hillside.

So far, the last three Nascent Soul Quadruple powerhouses of the Black Steel Army were all killed.

One died under Song Qingshu's cough.

One died under Song Qingshu's thoughts.

One died under Song Qingshu's palm print.

The only ones who can still stand in front of Song Qingshu now are a group of defeated generals without a leader in the Black Steel Army.

but.

Still have to fight.

This is the belief of their Black Steel Army.

In Song Qingshu's words, it was the stupidity of these black steel soldiers.

So what follows is a very boring battle.

Song Qingshu only cares about killing people.

Kill without stopping.

Killed the tiger's mouth to pieces.

The blade of the Zixue soft sword is slightly curled.

The smashed Hell Terrace was covered in blood.

The flat terrain of the mountain flat was broken.

It messed up Qiulin's sense of tranquility.

Song Qingshu kept raising his sword.

Keep waving.

Has been controlling hell platform flying all over the sky.

He was suddenly a little monotonous, and he felt that such a thing was very boring.

Especially when his whole body becomes a blood man, and when he has enemies, he also has himself.

He felt bored.

But boring, still want to kill!

"Ding, Hell Terrace collected a Nascent Soul Double Undead, and gained 12454 recovery experience points."

"Ding, Hell Terrace collected a Jindan nine-fold undead, and gained 9554 recovery experience points."

"Ding, Hell Terrace collected a Nascent Soul Triple Undead, and gained 13548 recovery experience points."

……

"Ding, Hell Terrace has recovered, and Hell Terrace is now level [-]."

During this boring and monotonous massacre, the system beeped again and again.

In the monotonous prompt tone.

It means that Song Qingshu's strength is getting stronger...

And now in such a monotonous massacre.

But it also represents Song Qingshu's strength, so he has to do it even if it's boring.

The sun moved westward on the hillside, and the color of the sky became ruddy.

The light shining on the hillside also became much redder and warmer unconsciously.

The red warmth is full of corpses and blood, and the corpses lying on the ground are piled up into a hill.

Among the broken limbs.

Song Qingshu stood with a sword in his hand, looking at the few enemies who could not reach the end like a Shura, indifferently: "Is there anyone who wants to die?"

"bring it on."

Chapter 370 No one survived on the mountain plain

On the hillside in the twilight, the smell of blood rose straight to the sky.

The hillside was covered with a glow of red, as if it had been stained red with blood.

In fact, this is indeed the case, blood smeared all over the mountain.

After the death of the gray heavy armored man.

Song Qingshu kept swinging his sword to kill the enemy.

From the scorching sun at noon to the red and warm setting sun.

The Black Steel Army killed at least nearly 800 people.

More than 800 people may sound insignificant and insignificant.

But if eight hundred warriors stand in front of you, then you will know.

There are more than 800 people, and it is a dark place.

More than 800 people, at least more than 800 knives, more than 800 palms, and more than 800 killing intent.

This is a big number.

So Song Qingshu is really tired now.

The blade of his purple blood soft sword was inserted into the soil, supporting his body so as not to fall down.

His legs were a little weak, as if he would fall down at any moment.

But now Song Qingshu can't fall down.

Because there were still people standing in front of him, he still had to stand.

Dozens of nearly a hundred ascetics held iron swords and looked at Song Qingshu with bloodless faces, the sword trembling in their hands.

"Who else wants to die?"

"bring it on."

Song Qingshu looked at the group of ascetics whose hands were trembling slightly, frowned in disgust, and then spoke.

It may seem like a provocation.

If this group of proud black steel soldiers usually heard such words.

He will inevitably draw his sword after a sharp cry.

But now it seems.

Song Qingshu's muttering to himself was more like an invitation.

An invitation from death.

They are almost sure.

If he nodded his head, Song Qingshu's purple blood soft sword that had already been cut into curls would cut his neck.

Then the god of death will have his name on the name list.

So after Song Qingshu finished speaking this sentence.

No one dared to respond.

There was a dead silence on the mountain plain, and the breeze came slowly, and the rustling sound resounded in the ears of Song Qingshu and the dozens of people.

Song Qingshu pulled out the Zixue soft sword, and dust scattered everywhere.

"No one wants to die? Very good."