The young man was losing face. He sneered. "You can really take a beating. Then let's see just how much you can take." As he spoke, he waved his hand again. The air twisted around his palm, and a visible handprint shot out. It was clearly a combat technique.
The blow struck the madman in the back, sending him crashing into the wall again. This time, the wall shattered, drawing the city constables over. But when they saw he was a cultivator, they didn't dare approach.
The young man stared at the madman. He had gotten up again, and now he was running off over the rubble, laughing nonstop, as if mocking him.
Everyone around them was stunned. How could anyone take such a beating?
The young man's gaze turned cold. He flicked his fingers upward, and a long saber appeared in his hand. He swung it, and saber light tore through the sky, slashing viciously into the madman.
The clean severing blow everyone expected never came. The saber's slash seemed even weaker than his palm strike. It only made the madman stumble, without affecting him at all.
"Impossible." The young man took one step forward and rose into the air, his edge fully bared. Just as he was about to bring his saber down, he suddenly stopped. The blade plunged into the ground, and he turned to look at an old man. Beyond him, he saw rows of eyes, each gaze full of authority. Every one of them belonged to someone far stronger than he was.
His face paled. He hurriedly bowed. "Junior greets you."
"No need to introduce yourself. You're a disciple of the Martial Saber Sect, right? Go back. This has nothing to do with you." The old man spoke in a tone that left no room