Force swept into his face, killing intent spilling everywhere.
A cleaver swung at him from the front, while a sword thrust at him from behind. In an instant, Hong Yuan was caught between two attacks.
Yet he stood motionless, steady as a mountain. Suddenly, he reached out, moving later but arriving first, and tapped Cheng Gang's cleaver-wielding wrist like a flash of lightning.
Cheng Gang felt his arm go numb, as though struck by electricity. His cleaver dropped, but Hong Yuan raised his palm, sending a surge of force flicking against the hilt as it fell.
Whoosh!
The cleaver suddenly spun at tremendous speed, whirling forward even faster. Like a hurricane, it swept past Hong Yuan's shoulder and met the figure thrusting a sword straight at him.
The tall, robust, handsome swordsman rushed in, his extended sword barely an inch from Hong Yuan's back, when a vicious gust struck his face and made his hair stand on end.
He looked up in shock, seeing only a black shadow tumbling toward him. The next moment, agonizing pain tore through his face as a tremendous force smashed into it, sending him toppling backward.
The cleaver had buried itself in his face, almost splitting it in two. A thick, bloody smell spread, and the restaurant's patrons immediately cried out in alarm.
But even more martial artists had already leaped up, weapons in hand, watching Hong Yuan like tigers eyeing their prey.
In front of Hong Yuan, Cheng Gang stared at his empty hand, his expression blank and his mouth hanging open, his mind seemingly frozen.
A gentle voice rang out. "What's the rush? Racing to throw your life away? People like you really are rare."
Cheng Gang jolted and tried to retreat, but Hong Yuan had already grabbed a handful of bamboo chopsticks