Chu Luohen glanced at Yun Huanling, the chill in his eyes deepening.
His sword strikes grew fiercer as a result.
Yun Huanling did not know whether he was imagining it, but he kept feeling that Chu Luohen was hacking at these people as though they were him.
Yun Huanling had only asked in passing. From the swordsmanship and arts these people used, he could tell that they had minds of their own. For some reason, however, they could not speak.
Yun Huanling suspected it might have something to do with the so-called orders from their superiors.
Whatever the case, he was still in a sorry state, and Su Jiu's martial uncle clearly had no intention of paying him any attention.
After some more time passed, these people perhaps noticed Chu Luohen's ruthlessness in killing and Yun Huanling's timidity.
The number of people surrounding Chu Luohen suddenly dwindled considerably, while Yun Huanling had it rough: the number attacking him kept growing.
Yet strangely enough, even though more and more people around Yun Huanling were trying to kill him, he had not suffered a single injury.
At this point, someone among their pursuers finally noticed the problem. Despite this somewhat boyish young man darting about and doing nothing but yelling, every step he took actually followed a pattern. At the very least, evading the damage inflicted by dozens of Nascent Soul cultivators was not something an ordinary cultivator could manage.
Most of them, however, still believed it was nothing more than coincidence.
Throughout the fight, although Yun Huanling could evade their attacks, his own attacks did little damage.
After all this time, blood had already flowed like a river on Chu Luohen's side, while Yun Huanling's side remained perfectly clean. Even severely wounded assassins were few and far between.
Although Chu Luohen