Three strikes, three great Golden Core cultivators fell, dying less than ants!
Ye Qinghou was pierced through the chest by a single sword, half-kneeling there, blood flowing incessantly.
His face was deathly pale, one hand covering the wound, the other supporting the ground. His eyes were filled with endless terror as he looked at the blood mist that Gu Xiao had become, then at the corpses of Leng Tai from the Golden Feather Sect and Lee Hongwen from White Cloud Palace lying on the ground, his legs trembling and his entire body going limp.
At this moment, he felt as though a sword of death was hanging above his head, poised to take his life at any moment.
Aside.
Yan Xingping, who bore the deepest grudge against Lin Tian and wished nothing more than to kill him, was previously unable to even touch Lin Tian with his attacks. Now, he stood there, frightened out of his wits.
His face was as pale as paper, and he stared blankly at Lin Tian, his legs quaking.
