"Captain Xue, if I said this was all a misunderstanding, would you believe me?"
Xue Yin did not answer. He merely shifted his saber to his right hand, dragged it behind him, and strode toward Lu Cheng.
The thick-backed, broad-bladed saber scraped across the ground with a clang and rattle, mingling with the dull thuds of Xue Yin's boots and echoing through the street.
Lu Cheng's expression changed sharply.
Xue Yin's pace appeared slow, but every step was building momentum.
And after that first step, the force around his blade had already locked onto Lu Cheng.
Though more than a dozen paces separated them, for a Perfected Strength Refining Martial Artist like Xue Yin, one burst was enough to cross that distance in an instant.
If Lu Cheng rashly turned to run, Xue Yin's great saber would only come crashing down upon his head.
A momentum-building strike from a Perfected Strength Refining Martial Artist was likely impossible for anyone but a Body Refining Martial Artist to withstand.
"Skulking about in the dead of night, with dirty silver stuffed in your clothes."
Xue Yin dragged his saber to a stop less than ten feet from Lu Cheng. His voice was not loud, yet every word seemed squeezed from between cracks in stone. "What exactly do you expect me to believe?"
Lu Cheng glanced down at his chest.
Three money pouches had puffed out the front of his clothes.
It felt rather like getting yellow mud into his pants.
Lu Cheng did not rush to explain.
Xue Yin had already formed a fixed impression. The more Lu Cheng explained, the more he would only paint himself blacker.
Seeing Xue Yin about to swing his saber, a flash of inspiration struck Lu Cheng, and he immediately said,
"Captain Xue, aren't you afraid Colonel