The ten of them pushed their speed to the limit and instantly rushed into the dense forest, where they saw four middle-aged men and Chu Liezhao.
They saw the sword in Chu Liezhao's hand shimmering like a pool of autumn water flowing endlessly along the blade.
Its tip was embedded in the throat of a lean middle-aged man. His eyes were wide, and in his left palm was a faint glow, hazy as the bright moon behind thin clouds.
He glared at Chu Liezhao with resentment and fury. The faint glow in his left palm began to flicker.
The glow tried to flare in rage, but it swelled and shrank. Unwilling to recede, it swelled once more before shrinking again. After several such expansions and contractions, it grew increasingly dim.
"You..." The other three middle-aged men recovered from their shock.
"Old Wen!"
"Brother Wen!"
A burly man threw a punch, transforming it into a skyful of fist shadows that scattered toward Chu Liezhao without a sound.
"Wuu... wuu..."
The other two middle-aged men drew their swords. Amid piercing, mournful howls, sword shadows filled the sky and descended upon Chu Liezhao.
The fist shadows froze in midair and formed a massive ball of white snow. The ten-meter-wide snowball slammed toward Chu Liezhao with the force of a great avalanche, impossible to evade.
"Chi chi chi chi..."
The sobbing sounds turned into soft whistles, and the sword shadows scattered into countless tiny swords.
Like a boundless drizzle falling with a rustle, they enveloped Chu Liezhao, equally impossible to evade.
Chu Liezhao drew his sword, bringing out a spray of blood, and sent Elder Wen Siming—clutching his throat—flying toward the blanket of sword shadows and the fist-shadow snowball.
At the same time, he swept past Elder Wen Siming's left hand and snatched away