"I'm going in."
Yang Jian's voice was low and cold. He turned to look at Ye Zhen beside him.
"I don't know what will happen next. I might wake up soon, or it might take a long time." His tone carried the gravity of entrusting his life to someone else. "I'm leaving this body of mine, and Lin Cheng's life, in your hands."
Ye Zhen put away his usual flippant attitude.
He abruptly drew the Long Sword at his waist, angling its point toward the ground. Sickly green Ghost Fire burned softly along the blade.
The certain-death curse did not emanate from it. Instead, he used the Ghost Fire as a sheath.
There was no other reason for it. Ye Zhen simply thought it made him look imposing and cool.
"Don't worry." Ye Zhen's gaze blazed as he surveyed the deathly silent ruins around them, his voice steeped in absolute killing intent.
"As long as I, Ye Zhen, am still standing and breathing, nothing will get within five meters of this spot!"
"That's all I needed to hear." Yang Jian wasted no more words. He closed his eyes, sinking his consciousness entirely into the phantom Fierce Dog behind him.
As Yang Jian's consciousness entered it,
the invisible black Fierce Dog let out a sudden roar, turned into a mass of pitch-black shadow, and plunged straight into the space between Zhang Lei's brows.
Yang Jian's body went limp in an instant. Leaning against the wall, he fell into a deep sleep.
Now Ye Zhen was the only conscious fighter left on the rooftop.
He glanced at the three men, knowing full well that he had to hold this position at all costs.
Sword in hand, Ye Zhen stood guard at the edge of the rooftop like a door god.
Just then,