Amid the splintered timber and shattered stone.
The old man struggled to lift his eyelids, staring around him in horror.
The Formless Lineage might have been left warming the bench among the twenty-five orthodox lineages.
But it was still a bona fide Dao Orthodoxy!
He had cultivated for thousands of years and at least held the title of True Person. How could some ordinary, unorthodox Tower-Climbing Realm cultivator compare with his deep foundations?
Even though he had witnessed that woman's terrifying might back at the Imperial City.
He had been wary, but had never thought himself a soft persimmon she could crush at will.
If he unleashed every means at his disposal and went all out...
He might well escape her grasp.
He might even hold his own against her for a while.
Yet now.
Just five seemingly ordinary flying swords.
Had instantly stripped his body of any chance to resist!
The billowing dust slowly settled.
Though his vision was blurred, he could still make out several figures slowly entering through the inn's doors.
At their head was a girl dressed in black.
Her brows were distant mountains shaded with ink, her eyes autumn waters rippling with light.
Yet what drew the eye most was her slightly raised chin.
As though finely carved from white jade, as though formed from congealed celestial cream.
It seemed everything in the world had to shrink in shame before that snowy curve.
A delicately sculpted young Daoist attendant followed her, along with an old man and a younger man.
But although those two had taken human form, the prominent dragon horns and bull horns at their temples unmistakably proclaimed their identities as Demons.
Seeing this strange combination, the old man who had been slammed into the ground froze, unable to make sense of it.