Zhang Xiu had joined the sect far earlier than Zhao Yun.
Before Tong Yuan had reached the pinnacle, Zhang Xiu had already followed at his side, devoting himself to the study of martial arts.
Not long after Zhao Yun joined the sect, Zhang Xiu left Penglai. He made a name for himself as soon as he entered the wider world, and now he was one of the few marquis-level generals in the Han dynasty.
"Long time no see, little junior brother."
Zhang Xiu gave Zhao Yun a long look. He shook the spear in his hand, and the corpse of the flood dragon impaled on its tip instantly burst apart. Scales flew, flesh and bone separated, and wisps of pure blood essence surged into his mouth.
"I haven't tasted a Northern Sea flood dragon in quite some time... Master often said you were a dragon among men. He was right. I never imagined your martial arts had already reached this level."
As Zhang Xiu murmured, a note of melancholy crept into his voice. The spear in his hand never left its ready position.
"Did you come here to pay your respects, senior brother, or do you have some other purpose?" Zhao Yun tightened his grip on his spear, his expression growing cold.
"Every being at the pinnacle in this world has been cut down. Of those who fell, only the Sword Saint and Master remain. Lü Bu killed the Sword Saint, but how did Master die?"
A cold smile touched Zhang Xiu's lips. He turned to look into the distance.
"What do you think, second junior brother?"
Not far away stood a towering, broad-shouldered man clad in silver tiger armor. His blazing blood essence surged like lava, and fresh blood stained his armor. He had clearly been through a battle