Liu Jing no longer put on airs like an aristocrat, nor did he remain lofty and aloof. Instead, he lay sprawled on the ground, weeping as he spoke.
"I'll talk, I'll talk. Back then, Spirit Masters from several nearby cities also came over and took part.
"They were XX, XXX, XXX, XXX..."
Ye Anxun and the blade-wielding people around her exchanged glances and memorized those names.
Then, without hesitation, they drove their knives into Liu Jing's fat pig of a son and killed him.
When Liu Jing saw his son stabbed to death, he did not grow angry. Instead, he pressed himself even lower to the ground.
Liu Jing was afraid. Even the rage of watching his son murdered before his eyes could not conceal that fear. Just as when he had faced Wang Wen, who had still been laughing on the brink of death, he was afraid.
He was a forty-first-level Soul Ancestor. The strongest person around him was only Liu Qinian, a thirty-first-level Soul Elder. Yet he was afraid.
First, Ye Anxun's group had already gravely wounded him in their ambush. Second, the hatred in everyone's eyes when they looked at him terrified him.
He was not a warrior like Wang Wen, not a warrior who could keep laughing and fighting even with his organs shattered. He was merely a fly, a somewhat fat fly.
And today, the people who had come to eliminate flies for the warrior had arrived. Of course the fly should fear them. Of course it should be terrified. After all, it was only a buzzing fly that smugly believed itself impressive.
"Don't kill me! Don't kill me! I have lots and lots of money. I'll give it all to you!"
The fly believed it had offered up its most precious treasure in exchange