From that moment on, the guests on the Fourth Floor witnessed a scene destined to be bloody and horrifying. Each unfolding image was like a nightmare's demons given tangible form, the cold in those swinging limbs surpassing even the power of death. Those who witnessed it would never be able to erase that unforgettable terror from their minds. It would haunt them for life. Many years later, some of them would develop a strange illness that left them unable to endure any violence. Even the sight of children fighting would flood their minds with those horrific images, overwhelming their fragile, aging nerves and bringing about their deaths.
In a sense, the people Yenaier killed that day were not merely the Zhou Family's servants and hired thugs, but also many of those who had come to the brothel to indulge their lust.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
That slender figure moved too fast, becoming a gust of wind that swept back and forth through the crowd, leaving nothing but one crisp crack after another. Then, one person after another fell to the floor. Some had their arms twisted around; others had a thigh bent up behind their heads. Still others had their necks turned completely around, their faces aligned with their backs.
Everything happened far too quickly. Even to the blade-wielding guards, their opponent's movements were an indistinct blur, placing tremendous pressure on them. But at least they were seasoned veterans, outstanding soldiers selected from the army after years on the battlefield. They had not yet become like the useless servants around them, who were so consumed by fear that they had lost control of their bodies.
Some began slashing with their blades, choosing viciously precise angles. They aimed neither at the swiftly moving feet nor at the elusive hands, but at the