Haunted

Night fell, and even the sounds of insects throughout the town seemed buried beneath the earth. The silence was suffocating.

Zhou Qiubai lay on the bed in silence for a moment before finally opening his eyes and sitting up.

After being treated with the new medicine, the pain in his left arm had eased considerably.

He felt for the White Clothes Sword beside the bed and habitually pressed his fingertips lightly against its scabbard.

Yang Guyun had not lain down.

He sat upright on the edge of the bed. Hearing Zhou Qiubai move, he slowly opened his eyes.

"How is your recovery?" Yang Guyun asked.

"Seventy or eighty percent." Zhou Qiubai rotated his wrist. "It might not be comparable to my peak condition, but it is enough to handle a few opponents of the same level."

"After all, we usually fight above our level. Fighting opponents at the same level can only be considered our strength after being injured."

Yang Guyun did not reply and simply stood up.

There was no exaggeration in that. Fighting above their level had long been commonplace for them.

But if other geniuses heard that, it would be rather...

Listen to yourselves. Is that even human speech?

These two freaks fought above their level as easily as drinking water. If word got out that Tang Hao had been killed by them, the entire continent would probably shake three times over.

A crippled Title Douluo was still a Title Douluo, even if he was severely crippled.

The two of them quietly went downstairs.

The main hall was pitch-black, its tables and chairs stacked against the walls. Zhou Qiubai did not touch the front door; it would be difficult to explain if they woke the innkeeper.

So, they chose to slip quietly out through the small door