A vicious grin spread across Deng Shiming's face. He held the Short Sword in a reverse grip, took a quick step forward, and swung. A soft hiss rang out.
A passerby clutched his throat in terror, but blood still gushed through his fingers like a spring.
A surge of savage delight rose in Deng Shiming's heart.
To a martial artist, ordinary people were as weak as chicks—he could kill them with a wave of his hand.
In the past, constrained by all kinds of shackles, even though he possessed greater power, he had been forced to suppress the violence in his heart, obey the law, and live among ordinary people as meekly as a quail.
But now he no longer had to hold back. The intense thrill of killing sent his blood racing, and his body trembled faintly with excitement.
He barreled forward, and everyone in his path had their throats slit by his Short Sword.
The street quickly descended into chaos. Screams and cries rang out one after another as countless people scattered in every direction like headless flies.
A nearby soldier immediately fired a warning shot into the air, shouting over and over for the crowd to crouch down. But by then, fear had robbed the people of all reason. They seemed not to hear him at all, fleeing in every direction.
Suddenly, a figure swept in like the wind and struck the soldier in the chest with a palm. A dense series of bone-crunching cracks rang out. The soldier's entire chest caved in, and he was sent flying.
It was Xu Dahu, following close behind.
The burly martial artist who had looked so reluctant when he killed that couple earlier was now wearing a savage grin, charging like a ferocious tiger.
The two charged forward, one after