Zhang He said nothing. His gaze passed over Guo Huai's corpse once more before he looked up, flexing his fingers around his sword hilt.
He sensed the fragility of the youth before him with absolute clarity.
Unmistakably, undeniably, Fifth Growth. Every movement of his body lay clearly before Zhang He's eyes: those slow movements and reactions, those fragile sinews, bones, and flesh. Without question, one stroke of his sword could tear this thin sheet of paper apart.
Guo Huai was certainly far inferior to him, but against a body like this, how could he have lost when he had drawn first?
That wondrous swordsmanship of unknown origin?
Just then, he felt the youth's gaze settle on his left ear. "You're that Mr. Zhang?"
Zhang He looked up at him. "With skills like yours, why bother with all these tricks of fleeing and pursuit?"
"If I hadn't run, would you have dared chase me?"
"..."
The youth looked at him. "What is your relationship with the Torchworld Cult?"
Silence.
Cold, muted killing intent slowly filled the entire tower.
Zhang He did indeed realize he had been wrong about certain things-this youth had not blundered recklessly into their midst by chance, ignorant of what he would face.
From the very beginning, he had been heading for the deepest reaches, clearer about his own goal than anyone else. Xiangzhou's Joy-in-Death Tower was merely something along his path.
But this Fifth Growth cultivator... what exactly did he rely on to dare stride through the fog unchecked?
Zhang He raised his icy gaze and fixed it firmly on the youth upstairs.
Of course, only by striking could he find out.
The man slowly extended his arm, sword in hand. He had begun laying things out the moment he stepped through the door; by now, his