Yan Zimo, equally badly injured, slowly landed and spat out a mouthful of black blood. In a hoarse voice, he ordered his men.
"Get them all under control. Don't kill them. We were fellow disciples, after all. Treat anyone too badly injured."
Relying on their overwhelming numerical advantage, the victorious group quickly subdued the defeated.
Though tonight's battle had been brutal, very few had actually died. Most were simply too severely wounded to rise again.
Hearing Yan Zimo's words, the defeated men all breathed a sigh of relief.
Wei Wufang, too badly injured to resist, had a flicker of mockery in his eyes.
As expected of Seventh. Even at a time like this, he still remembered to win people over with such petty tricks.
Maybe losing to him wasn't so unfair after all?
The other three from his faction—First, Third, and Fifth—had also been defeated and taken into custody.
Wei Wufang looked at his three fellow disciples. If nothing unexpected happened, Seventh would next try to recruit them.
It would even be perfectly normal for him to speak with Wei Wufang and ask him to submit.
After all, killing him would mean breaking the Thief Sect's rules, and it would be difficult to answer to Bamboo Elder's group as well.
With that in mind, Wei Wufang gave up struggling. Since he had lost, he accepted it.
Once everyone had been detained, Yan Zimo took out a mirror. After activating it with his true essence, ripples spread across its surface. In the end, it transformed into a water-mirror gate that drew all the detained people inside.
Only after locking them all away did Yan Zimo let out a sigh of relief. He clasped his fists toward the others and said, "Thank you all for your hard work. I, Yan, will remember