For the rogue cultivators atop the walls, a mere graze now meant death, and the slightest touch meant injury.
One Foundation Establishment rogue cultivator, his face filled with terror, tried to flee without caring which way he went.
But Qing Chen's giant blade was far too uncanny. It could even split off flying knives condensed from killing intent, their edges viciously sharp. In the blink of an eye, one grazed his left shoulder.
Everyone saw a flash of silver, followed by a crisp crack. The cultivator's entire arm was severed cleanly at the shoulder joint.
Not a drop of blood flowed from the cut. Instead, wisps of bluish smoke rose from it. The flesh had been carbonized into ash by the intense heat in an instant, giving off a pungent, scorched stench.
The cultivator lowered his head blankly, staring at the bowl-sized hollow in his left shoulder, black as charcoal.
Suddenly, a strange sound like a muffled drum came from his chest, as though hands were squeezing recklessly inside him.
Then dark-red minced flesh gushed from his seven orifices like floodwaters bursting through a dam. The sight was too ghastly to bear.
That blade energy had seemingly only grazed his shoulder, but in truth, it had already shattered all his internal organs.
Only the support of his meager cultivation had kept him from collapsing immediately.
"I... don't want... to die..."
The Foundation Establishment rogue cultivator used the last of his strength to look pleadingly at the other fleeing cultivators.
Unfortunately, at this moment of life and death, everyone was thinking only of escaping with their own lives. Who had any attention to spare for him?
Even a close friend who had called him brother and shared decades of friendship with him merely gave him a hurried glance before quickening his