The piercing blade light layered upon itself, unfolding in sequence like the unpredictable flow of autumn water, causing Liu Ling's old coachman to unwittingly open his mouth wide, feeling as though a chill seeped straight into his bones, even making his eyes feel cold.
By the time the blade light receded, the previously haughty young swordsman who had disregarded the onlookers had already plunged to the ground. Blood was seen flowing from his body, spilling onto the ground and melding into the puddles, creating layers of red diffusion.
With a sudden snap, the forty-three Divine Martial Mansion disciples simultaneously sheathed their swords and stepped back in unison. Apart from the extra tinge of crimson in the puddles and the corpse sprawled on the ground, there was no difference from moments ago, and even the faces of the many warriors from the Divine Martial Mansion were as indifferently normal as ever, with their swords stopping back in their original positions.
