The remaining dozen or so men mounted their horses and scattered in flight. In their minds, no matter how formidable a flying sword was, there was only one of it. Once it killed one man, the others would already be far away. Even if it went on killing, surely quite a few would escape with their lives. As long as they ran faster than everyone else, the path to survival would be theirs!
Sadly, they were wrong beyond measure. How had Zhang Xiaohua trained his flying sword? It was genuine skill honed by killing birds and roasting meat. On the island, even seabirds unafraid of lightning could not escape the ravages of Zhang Xiaohua's flying sword. How could a dozen or so villains on horseback possibly flee Zhang Xiaohua's "demonic grasp"?
Zhang Xiaohua formed a hand seal. Like threading a needle, the little sword darted through the darkness. Every pass harvested a life, and every turn carried away a trace of blood.
Since the secret of his flying sword had already been exposed, Zhang Xiaohua could not possibly allow a single one of them to return alive. Besides, judging by their conduct, they were even more wicked than the bandits of West Cui Mountain. How could Zhang Xiaohua spare them? Before long, before these villains had fled very far, every last one had been reaped by the little sword.
As each of them died, they all pondered the same question: "I still didn't outrun the others!"
It was not that they did not resist. They had simply been scared out of their wits, believing that some white-bearded old immortal in the sky was glaring down at them in fury. Moreover, the flying sword was truly strange—its angles were vicious and its speed lightning-fast. They could neither seize it nor block