The nine martial artists were red-eyed with bloodlust. They charged at the watching townsfolk, swinging their blades without a moment's hesitation.
The short, fat man hacked too hastily, and his blade lodged in an old man's shoulder blade.
"Damn it," he cursed. Planting a foot on the old man's chest, he wrenched it free. With a wet squelch, blood sprayed all over his face.
The woman holding a child had long since been frightened into silence, but the child was still crying. The tall, thin man walked over. His blade flashed, and the crying stopped abruptly. The woman's head rolled in the sand, her eyes still open.
Like hunting wolves charging into a sheep pen, they cut down one person with each stroke. In mere moments, almost all those innocent townsfolk lay dead or wounded.
"Not bad. You cut them down quite quickly." Qing Chen nodded, his face utterly expressionless, as though he were very satisfied with this brutal slaughter.
He glanced over the bodies on the ground and ordered, "Pile the bodies beneath the reef to the east. Don't leave them scattered around. Xue Pingzhi, keep an eye on them."
Xue Pingzhi hastily answered.
He looked at the nine martial artists, his gaze turning fierce. "Hurry up, all of you! If anyone dawdles, don't blame my sword for having no eyes!"
The martial artists dared not delay. They scrambled to drag the bodies over, afraid of falling even a step behind.
Qing Chen paid them no further attention. He walked to an open space nearby and took several jade bottles from inside his robe.
These were Spirit Storage Bottles he had picked up at the sect's outer disciple market, ordinarily used to hold small quantities of spiritual items.
He held a bottle by its mouth, faint black vapor rising