Outside the mansion, Ye Fan began a slaughter. To call it a slaughter would be an understatement; it was more like a harvest of death. The enemies before him were like crops, easily mown down by the farmer's scythe, falling one after another like rows of wheat.
It was an overwhelming scene. Regardless of the number of foes standing before him, the men brought by the Zia lieutenant had no resistance whatsoever in Ye Fan's hands. Their only fate was death.
Gradually, fear gripped the enemies, a terror that seeped into their souls and weighed heavily on their hearts.
"This is terrifying. He's not human; he's a demon, a demon." The soldiers on the Zia lieutenant's side muttered in low growls, too afraid to charge at Ye Fan, choosing instead to retreat, even if just a glance from Ye Fan sent chills down their spines.
