A Last Stand

"Brother Lu, how are you?" Seeing this, Shen Luo hurried forward, helped Lu Huaming up, and asked with concern.

"I'm all right. I've just exhausted too much of my strength. Hurry after him. You must not let that wicked dragon escape, or Chang'an's ghost scourge will never be quelled. Who knows how many innocent people will die?" His face pale as paper, Lu Huaming forced his eyes open and entrusted the task to him.

As he spoke, he slapped the Dragon-Slaying Sword into Shen Luo's hand.

At these words, Shen Luo hesitated briefly, then tightened his grip on the sword's hilt, nodded, and said:

"Don't worry. Leave it to me. Take care of yourself."

With that, Shen Luo held the longsword in one hand and took out two Divine Travel Armor-Horse Talismans, attaching them to his legs.

The talisman markings on his legs lit up, and the paper burned into fragments of ash that swirled around them. His figure suddenly shot forward.

Behind him, Lu Huaming leaned against a rock and rested for a long while before a little color returned to his face. After swallowing a golden pill, he formed a hand seal and began meditating to regulate his breathing. But the instant he stirred the last trace of magic power within him, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion washed over him.

He felt the world before his eyes slowly sink along with his eyelids. His divine sense grew hazy, and he toppled headfirst to one side.

Shen Luo pursued him for a little over a li, yet never caught sight of the Jing River Dragon King. He could only faintly sense the aura of dragon blood emanating from him.

That aura, however, was very different from Ao Hong's, filled with a cold, sinister feeling.

Half an hour later,