In the mortal world, at the Zhu Residence, dozens of marquisate guards hurried toward the rear courtyard to capture the assassin.
In a side room of the rear courtyard, crashing sounds rang out without end. The fierce battle had overturned the tables, chairs, and bed, leaving nothing but wreckage in sight.
The two had begun martial training at almost the same time, and their talent for martial arts had been nearly equal. One wielded a sword, while the other painstakingly tempered his body; each had his own strengths.
The guards burst into the room and surrounded Ning Fan.
Amid the layers of encirclement, Ning Fan held his sword in one hand and fixed his gaze on Zhu Ye behind the many guards. He took a step forward and charged to kill.
In the cold night, the sword was colder still. Its dazzling radiance flashed before their eyes, and the pupils of two guards contracted as blood spurted from their throats. Their bodies collapsed limply.
Outside the room, two women approached and watched the battle within. Though concern lingered in their hearts, their expressions were as still as water.
No one in the residence noticed the two women's arrival, as though they could not see them at all.
"Master may be in danger."
Yin'er watched the fierce battle in the room and spoke.
"We need only watch quietly."
Qing Ling replied calmly.
Inside the room, weapons clashed. Curved blades were knocked aside one after another by the longsword, unable to halt Ning Fan's advance.
"A bunch of trash!"
Watching the guards fall one after another to Ning Fan's sword, Zhu Ye's face darkened. With a cold snort, he stepped forward.
With a thunderous punch, fist and sword collided. Ning Fan's right arm went numb, and he slid several steps backward.
Rip!