"I know," Bing Yekong said, "but I don't have time to wait around."
He stepped away from the line and no longer looked at those waiting.
His gaze swept across both sides of the street before settling on a narrow alley beside the main road, where two men leaned against the wall, drinking.
The two were thin and haggard, dressed in ragged clothes. It was impossible to tell what rank of Soul Masters they were, but their eyes were clouded, and the wine in their clay bowls was pale and watery, clearly diluted with plenty of water.
Bing Yekong walked toward them.
The Slaughter Messenger stood where she was, watching his back. Her brow furrowed tighter and tighter, but she did not follow.
In the alley, the two drinking men saw an unfamiliar face approaching. They first straightened up warily, then relaxed when they saw he was an absurdly young kid with a brand-new number tag hanging at his waist.
"New here?" One bald man grinned. "What do you want with us?"
"I want to trade you for something," Bing Yekong said.
"Trade for what?"
Bing Yekong did not answer.
He made his move.
He did not summon the Heavenly Frost Sword, but his right hand flashed like an icy-blue afterimage. A thin layer of frost condensed over his fingertips as his palm turned into a blade and slashed sideways.
The bald man's grin was still on his face when a layer of ice sealed his throat. The ice instantly froze his windpipe and blood vessels. He toppled to the ground without making a sound, his limbs twitching twice before going still.
The other man was so frightened that his clay bowl fell to the ground. He had just opened his mouth to shout when Bing Yekong's left hand pressed