Black Stone Ridge was steep and jagged, its strange rocks rising in wild formations. Sunlight never reached the ravines between the ridges year-round, and the yin aura was exceptionally heavy. Ordinary birds and beasts rarely ventured here.
At this moment, a pursuit was underway on a rugged trail winding through the ridge.
The old man fleeing desperately ahead was around sixty. His once-luxurious brocade robe was now torn in many places, stained with dust and blood.
His gray-white hair hung loose and disheveled, his face haggard, with a trace of blood still wet at the corner of his mouth. He was Zhu Xin, the highly esteemed Second Master of the Zhu Clan.
One hand clutched tightly at his chest, as though he were concealing something of utmost importance within his robes, while the other gripped a treasure sword.
Several dozen yards behind him, a young figure pursued him relentlessly, shadowing him like a ghost.
The man appeared no more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, his features cold and stern.
He wore a dark-gold tight-fitting outfit. His movements were swift yet steady, revealing an exceptionally solid foundation.
In his hand was an unusually shaped curved saber. Its blade had a pronounced arc and gleamed with icy light, while several backward hooks lined its spine, adding to its vicious aura.
"Zhu Xin, you old bastard, surrender at once! Keep resisting from your corner, and you'll only die more painfully!"
The young man's voice was cold, brimming with undisguised killing intent.
Zhu Xin whipped around and snarled, "Miao Zhiheng! My Zhu Clan has never borne any grudge against your Golden Sand Fort. We mind our own business and stay out of each other's way. Why must you hound us so relentlessly and exterminate us all?!"
"Humph!"
Miao Zhiheng let out a scornful laugh. His