Over those two months, whatever happened elsewhere, everyone in the Transport Office, from top to bottom, had witnessed Jiang Yang's methods. The disciples making transport runs, in particular, could scarcely have felt safer.
Over several round trips, Tribulation Qi cultivators had come charging one after another as though they no longer cared for their lives. Their numbers were frightening, yet he cut them down as easily as chopping melons and slicing vegetables.
In that short span, more than fifty cultivators had fallen at his hands, and not a single one had been below Foundation Establishment.
Now, never mind enemy cultivators—even his own sect members secretly clicked their tongues when they heard about it.
Over the past fortnight, he had taken on several more transport missions, but the Tribulation Qi cultivators, previously as thick as weeds, had vanished without a trace.
The entire route was so peaceful that it felt like a leisurely outing. The disciples aboard found the sudden swing from abundance to absence rather unsettling, and could not help grumbling inwardly:
Before, they were like weeds in a field, competing to poke their heads out. Now there's nothing at all. Could they have all been cut down?
Still, perhaps Martial Uncle Jiang's fearsome reputation has spread and chilled the enemy's courage. After all, a Tribulation Qi cultivator's life is still a life...
Jiang Yang naturally knew nothing of the disciples' discussions. He had already left Cuiwei and come to investigate the southernmost front of the Beast Tide.
Dozens of days of slaughter and fifty departed souls at his hands had transformed Jiang Yang's bearing. His former sharpness had been entirely drawn inward, replaced by a grim menace that remained hidden and unreleased.
His boots trod through shallow grass as he made his way straight to the summit, where he