"Junior, stop!"
The man's voice suddenly rang out from behind.
Song Wen's lips curled.
Just as he had expected, the man had been following behind them all along.
The man no longer bothered concealing his tracks and chased after Song Wen at full speed.
"Junior, if you want to die, don't drag Yin Ling down with you. Release her!"
Song Wen remained deaf to his words and raced at full speed toward the brownish-yellow storm.
"Lowborn, let go! Let go of me!" Yin Ling struggled desperately.
The pursuing man immediately condensed a phantom giant hand a thousand zhang high.
Yet this phantom hand did not strike at Song Wen. Instead, it swept toward Song Wen's left.
Clearly, the man intended to circle ahead of Song Wen and cut him off.
The giant hand swept past Song Wen, and the gale it stirred sent his body lurching violently.
Song Wen's expression turned cold, and the force in his hand instantly increased.
"If you don't want her to die right now, disperse your attack."
Killing intent blazed in the man's eyes. He glared viciously at Song Wen's back, yet did not dare truly strike to kill.
In the end, he could only wave his hand.
The thousand-zhang giant hand that had already swept ahead of Song Wen suddenly dissipated.
Song Wen let out a slight breath of relief, grabbed Yin Ling, and plunged headfirst into the endless yellow sand.
His own spiritual power surged forth, protecting both himself and Yin Ling within it.
Grains of sand as hard as gold and iron battered against the protective spiritual radiance with endless bangs, like rain striking banana leaves.
Song Wen looked around and discovered:
From outside, the sandstorm appeared to be raging forward, but within it, it constantly spiraled toward the right. The deeper