Yang Qing and his four companions were locked in a chaotic battle with dozens of death warriors.
Fortunately, Mo Yang, their newest companion, was reasonably nimble. He could even fight two opponents at once with gusto, giving Yang Qing and the others less to worry about.
In truth, apart from Yang Qing himself, Bu Er and the others had made tremendous leaps in their martial skills during their secluded training at the Hidden Clan's last refuge.
Though these death warriors were numerous, they seemed to fall a little short of Bu Er and the others in skill.
It was not that these men were useless, but that Bu Er, Jiang Zhizhou, and the others were too strong.
Before Yang Qing had even collected himself, his four companions had already surrounded their respective opponents.
A force of barely a hundred men had actually dared to ambush them.
What Yang Qing and the others had not expected, however, was that these men seemed terrified of Mo Yang. During the fight, they stubbornly refused to engage him whenever they could avoid it.
Though their behavior looked utterly contemptible, they persisted all the same.
The sight took Yang Qing and the others by surprise.
But just because these men did not want to fight Mo Yang did not mean he felt the same way.
He was like a puppet driven mad with bloodlust, knowing only to strike those men with one palm blow after another.
More and more men fell before Yang Qing and his companions, while ever more death warriors surged forward.
Everyone's eyes had turned red with bloodlust.
This was a contest of life and death.
Either you died, or I did.
No one had the attention to spare for whatever might be wrong with Mo Yang. Only one thought remained in