Su Ming stood behind an earthen rise outside the village, sweeping his gaze over it and taking in all its defenses.
Two squads of Evil Path disciples patrolled the village entrance, six men in each. They paced back and forth with Bone Sabers in hand, their wary eyes scanning their surroundings.
Inside the village, a fixed sentry post stood every few dozen paces. Its defenses were far tighter than those on the outskirts.
By a rough estimate, there were at least thirty or forty Evil Path disciples in the village.
A cold smile curled Su Ming's lips.
Thirty or forty men—so what?
Today, this desolate village would become the burial ground of these Heretical Cultivators.
He was in no hurry to strike.
It was still early, and there were too many people and prying eyes in the village. If he attacked now, some fish would inevitably slip through the net.
The best time to strike would be after nightfall, when the black fog was thickest.
He could also use the time to get a clear picture of the situation inside the village.
Su Ming found a secluded, abandoned mud house and slipped inside. He sat in a corner with his eyes closed, resting as he quietly waited for night to fall.
Outside, the blizzard grew fiercer. Howling winds swept snow pellets against the walls with a dry rustle.
Time trickled past, and the last glimmer of light on the horizon gradually faded.
Night finally fell.
The night was black as ink. Dense black fog blanketed the entire desolate village as though it had solid form, reducing visibility to less than thirty feet.
Cold wind threaded through the ruined streets and alleys, its mournful howls like the weeping of wronged souls, enough to make anyone's scalp prickle.
Su Ming pushed open