"Where did this little bug come from?"
The image of the young Daoist reflected in the deep purple, gold-rimmed beast pupils produced only the sensation of a speck of flying dust to its master; a gust of wind blew, and he was gone. In a certain sense, its allies were still quite reliable.
At that moment, the Heavy Artifact Sect leader's five fingers closed into a fist, starlight gathering and transforming between them. Two miles away, Yu Zhou, who was just about to launch another attack, felt a chill in his heart. His figure turned hazy again a fraction of a line too late as light waves rippled across his brow. The outer layer of sword qi caved inward, and with a crisp pop, a tiny hole was etched into it—though of course, it had only pierced empty air.
The moment one hole opened, a second depression followed. By now, Yu Ci had shifted nearly forty zhang away. At his throat, in a process almost identical to the first, another small hole was freshly opened.
Immediately following, at his chest, upper abdomen, and lower abdomen, light waves successively expanded—which in truth meant his sword qi was crumbling under unbearable pressure. Amidst this, the old Daoist Yu Zhou shifted locations at least three times, retreating over five miles away, yet he could no way avoid this seemingly child's play of an impact.
Finally, as the fifth light wave formed a ring and the sword qi barrier shattered, the old Daoist let out a muffled grunt. His figure popped out from the thin mist, blood spilling from his mouth and nose to stain the white beard beneath his chin. Yet he could not spare a thought for his injuries; he looked up toward the location of the Heavy Artifact Sect leader and