The three Flying Shuttles silently circled at a low altitude of around two hundred meters, centered on An Jing and the impact crater. Array patterns flickered across their surfaces, their faint auras linking together to form a formation. For a time, it was as though the power of the three origins descended from above, like a towering mountain falling from thin air—restricting flight, forbidding movement. Every motion felt like carrying a mountain across the sea, impossible to make.
Clearly, they had come prepared. Perhaps they had specifically come to suppress and capture Zhou Changhe, only for him to sense something amiss in advance and escape their encirclement—only to happen upon An Jing, who had likewise followed close behind.
The three Flying Shuttles showed no intention of communicating with An Jing. Signals flickered between them instead, as though they were discussing whether the person on the ground was their target.
But whether he was or not, they had come with ill intent. That intense malice, that contempt which regarded An Jing as fish on the chopping block—even an ordinary person who had never cultivated at Qingjing Sword Temple could clearly sense it.
How novel.
It had been a very, very long time since An Jing had felt as though others did not recognize him, as though they were not wholly focused on him or cautiously on guard against him.
It seemed these were not from any proper human faction of the Tianyuan Realm.
"Since you aren't going to talk..."
The young martial artist lifted his eyelids, flames flickering in his eyes. "Then I can't be bothered to ask."
What?
At that moment, warning bells abruptly rang in the hearts of the three groups discussing how to "deal with" the unexpected martial artist below. They had been considering whether to kill An