Old Man Leisurely Follows Iron Carriage, A Body of Wind and Thunder Awaits the Toppling of Towers

When Ji Jian retreated from the side of the Rail-Car, he was nearly spent, panting like an ox.

Even with his exceptional lightness skill, he found it incomparably taxing under such intense, densely packed crossbow fire.

Frowning, he looked toward the crossbow ports of the passing vehicle.

The guards' eyes remained steady and calm, and the Repeating Crossbows protruding from the ports did not waver in the slightest, fixed squarely on him.

There had rarely been a situation his lightness skill could not break through.

No matter how perilous things had been before, he had always been able to rely on his own two legs to carry himself before his target.

But this time was different.

The speed he had always taken pride in was merely enough before that net woven from crossbow bolts.

Just testing it had already driven him to his limit.

He was not injured, because his movement was already too fast for the bolts to catch.

But between "unable to catch him" and "able to rush in" lay a wide chasm—so wide that every attempt only let him close the distance by a little, before the next rain of arrows forced him back even farther.

He tried several times. Each time, he got closer to the carriage than before, yet each time, he was pressed back.

Like a grain of sand flung up by the wind striking a wall—hitting it, bouncing back, hitting it again, bouncing back again.

He did not want to try anymore.

Because he had already calculated it.

Even if he risked taking one or two bolts and forced his way in, he would still have no time to do anything.

At his current speed and with the firing rate of those Repeating Crossbows, he would be hit by more than ten bolts