"Amitabha, please cease this at once, benefactors."
Jiumozhi was Murong Bo's friend. Though he was willing to use all manner of underhanded methods for martial arts, he was still reliable when it was within his power.
Later, when Murong Bo exposed himself and the Murong father and son were targeted by Qiao Feng and his father, Jiumozhi had decisively stepped in to help as well.
The people before him were indeed outstanding martial artists, and their numbers had genuinely taken him by surprise.
But they still were not his match!
Once one's martial arts surpassed one's opponents by a certain margin, so long as one was not completely surrounded and still had room to maneuver, there was no need to care about their numbers before one's Internal Energy and stamina ran dry.
If the experts before him could join forces and strike at once, Jiumozhi would naturally be beaten senseless. But in a real fight, the number of people who could engage him simultaneously was ultimately limited.
That was why he had spoken up this time with sufficient confidence.
Yet clearly, despite his compassionate expression and the bearing of an enlightened monk, he did not have the slightest bit of intimidating presence.
Moreover, the main combatants on both sides were Reincarnators, and no one had any intention of paying attention to him.
"Since you insist on refusing to lay down your butcher's blades, do not blame this humble monk for offending you."
Jiumozhi still wore the solemn expression of a merciful holy monk, but he immediately charged into the crowd.
His attacks were vicious, without the slightest trace of a monk's compassion.
Shaolin's Seventy-Two Arts, the Flame Blade, empowered by his Lesser Formless Art, battered the Reincarnators until they were utterly miserable.
Though he had not yet gone for the