Golden Swallow's body pitched forward, his forehead striking the cold bluestone pavement with a dull thud.
His eyes were still open, but his pupils had already begun to lose focus.
Within them were reflected Sikong Yun's white robes, Meng Wuya's horrified expression, and the flame in the corner of the garden that was about to go out.
The flame burned quietly.
And cleanly.
Sikong Yun's body twisted sharply in midair, forcibly changing direction.
His boots scraped harshly against the ground, leaving two white marks across the bluestone as chips flew. His body swayed twice before finally steadying itself.
He did not charge toward the pavilion.
Instead, he stopped three zhang away from Golden Swallow's corpse.
His gaze fell upon Golden Swallow, his pupils trembling violently.
Dead?
Just like that, he was dead?
He knew Golden Swallow was no match for him. In his eyes, Golden Swallow was merely an inexperienced boy. Though his swordsmanship was swift, it lacked foundation, and his use of spiritual power was so crude as to be beneath mention.
If Sikong Yun thrust out with his sword, Golden Swallow could withstand three moves at most. He would certainly die on the fourth.
But that was in a face-to-face confrontation.
And now, he had not even seen who had struck.
The Succubus was still in the pavilion... no, there was no one in the pavilion anymore.
Sikong Yun abruptly raised his head, his gaze sweeping across every corner of the pavilion. The railings, stone table, stone benches, glazed lanterns—all were utterly empty.
Where had that woman gone?
A cold sheen of sweat seeped across Sikong Yun's back.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. The most important thing for a swordsman was not how fast his sword was, but how steady his