Outside the tavern, the surrounding passersby and onlookers left in a bustle, their faces full of bafflement.
Meanwhile,
Inside the tavern,
Before a window-side seat on the second floor,
The tall, thin, sharp-mouthed cultivator who had been acting wantonly and arrogantly downstairs moments ago now stood before a table. Facing the figure before him, he was drenched in cold sweat, as though he had just been fished out of water.
Before him,
Sat a young man with an ordinary aura, his head lowered as he ate and drank.
Unhurriedly polishing off the food and wine before him,
He was a very ordinary young man.
Whenever the sharp-mouthed, tall, thin cultivator wielded his flying sword and sped through the high altitude, vast numbers of such ordinary mortal ants on the ground below would raise their heads to look up in worship, only to be swiftly left far behind him.
In the past, the sharp-mouthed, tall, thin cultivator would not have spared such mortal ants a second glance.
Perhaps only when cultivating certain demonic Secret Techniques would he look at them a little longer, but even then, he merely regarded them as materials for crafting, with nothing worth caring about.
But at this moment,
Standing here,
Facing this unfamiliar young man with an ordinary aura,
The tall, thin cultivator's whole body had frozen rigid on the spot!
The blood throughout his body seemed to have solidified. It was as though he had fallen into an ice cave in the depths of winter; a chill rose from the soles of his feet, piercing cold to the bone, leaving his whole body utterly unable to move!
It was not only that he could not move,
But that he did not dare to!
Not merely because, in that instant just now, the surrounding environment had