Under the berserk, chaotic torrent of Spiritual Power, great swathes of black feathers melted away like snowflakes beneath the blazing sun, revealing the Winged Race cultivator's bedraggled figure. He stood there in a daze, at a loss, searching around for something.
Something... was wrong!
His Secret Technique had clearly battered the Sword Cultivator full of holes. The feedback could not have been mistaken. By all reason, that Sword Cultivator should have died on the spot, yet when he had rushed over to seize the treasure, there had not been the slightest trace of him!
The other party had vanished just like that, like an invisible gust of wind, leaving behind no trace at all.
He had no time to continue searching. Close on his heels, two figures had already swept over and flanked him from left and right. One of them shouted furiously, "Leave the Treasure Gourd behind!"
The Winged Race cultivator looked up and saw that the two fellow cultivators who had been able to cooperate with him moments ago now had surging Spiritual Power around them and vicious expressions on their faces. Their eyes were filled with ruthless ferocity as they stared at him. Beyond them came even more streaks of light, even more figures...
"..."
The Winged Race cultivator could not help cursing. He realized the situation was bad and knew this was a place of trouble that he could not linger in. He was decisive as well. With a flap of his wings, he sped into the distance.
Though he knew it was likely useless, he still unwillingly explained, "Please calm down, fellow cultivators. If I say the Treasure Gourd is not with me, would the two of you be willing to believe me?"
One of them nodded repeatedly as he pursued, "I believe you! So