The chief escort feared getting dragged into trouble and had no desire to involve himself in the grudges of the martial world. He led the bulk of the group in a hasty retreat from the scene.
Only five people remained to draw their blades and offer aid. Xiang Yuan wanted a plausible excuse to infiltrate the Five Poisons Cult; the other four were more practical, staying behind to make money and seek a taste of wealth and glory.
They were all ordinary Foundation Establishment Realm martial artists, not disciples of any great sect. They had some skills, but not much. Xiang Yuan did not want to stand out too much, so he released the eight skeletal soldiers from his storage pouch. Then, saber in hand, he stepped forward, relying entirely on brute strength to meet the enemy.
That was what innate divine strength was like—the numbers were right there. Even though Xiang Yuan held back in every possible way, he was still the most dazzling performer on the field.
After the time it took to drink a cup of tea, more than ten Yi tribesmen had fallen, and the eight skeletal soldiers had also been smashed into pieces.
Quite a few had been accidentally injured by Xiang Yuan. He had disliked those old scallions for a long time.
The four men seeking wealth all bore injuries. Since poison had been smeared on the Yi tribesmen's weapons, they now sat cross-legged on the ground, accepting antidotes from the two women and silently circulating their cultivation to heal their wounds.
Of the two brothers, the elder had first been struck by a poisoned arrow, then trapped in an encirclement. He had failed to take the antidote in time, kicked his legs twice, and went still.
The younger brother wailed miserably and swore