"Ling'er!"
A hysterical roar rang out. Chen Luo shoved aside the onlookers around him and stared at the blood covering the ground, his whole body trembling, his face filled with despair.
The others came back to their senses and all retreated in fright.
"Be on guard!"
A middle-aged cultivator shouted in a low voice, instinctively looking toward Yang Jian.
To kill Xu Ling right in front of them—only the Holy King could possess such means.
Yang Jian looked up, his divine sense sweeping out rapidly, yet he failed to catch any suspicious aura.
Chen Luo knelt before the pool of blood, unable to accept the reality before his eyes. A moment ago, he had still felt he was the happiest man under heaven; in this instant, it was as if he had fallen into hell.
Xiao Chuan in Yang Jian's arms seemed to sense something and began wailing at the top of his lungs, but Chen Luo could no longer spare any attention for him.
The head of the Chen Family came before Yang Jian and asked with a frown, "Holy King, what happened?"
Although he did not like Xu Ling, she was, after all, a descendant of the Xu Family. But Xu Ling had died right in front of them—if word spread, where would the Chen Family's face be?
"I am not sure either. It truly is strange..." Yang Jian replied. He then handed Xiao Chuan to the head of the Chen Family and vanished from where he stood.
The other members of the Chen Family came back to their senses and immediately walked out of the main hall, beginning to stand guard.
Chen Luo abruptly raised his head to look at the head of the Chen Family and cried in agitation, "Father, save Ling'er! Save her!"
The head