Wangchuan lowered his head and looked at Saint Marcus, who sat slumped on the ground.
The obese Celestial Dragon was still trembling, mumbling words no one could make out, his pupils unfocused, as though his soul had yet to return to his body.
Wangchuan glanced again at the four piles of black suits and sunglasses on the ground.
Of the four guards, three were dead.
One remained.
The guard on the far right was kneeling on the ground, trembling all over.
Wangchuan looked at him.
"You."
The guard jerked his head up, his face covered in tears and snot.
His body gave a violent shudder, and he pressed his forehead to the ground, kowtowing with loud thuds.
"Spare me! Spare me! Please spare me, sir!"
His voice, thick with sobs, echoed through the empty street.
"I didn't do anything! I didn't draw my sword! I didn't attack you!"
Wangchuan said nothing.
He merely raised his hand and flicked his index finger.
An invisible repulsive force shot out, striking the guard precisely on his belt.
It flung him off the ground, sent him somersaulting through the air, then slammed him onto the stone pavement two meters away.
"Ah!"
The guard cried out in pain, but he dared not stop. He immediately rolled over onto his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground again.
Wangchuan spoke.
His voice was soft and calm.
"Get back there."
The guard's body abruptly stiffened.
"Take a message to the World Government."
The guard raised his head, his face covered in tears and snot, but his eyes were filled with the desperate desire to live.
"Please, tell me! Tell me! I'll deliver it without fail! I won't miss a single word!"
Wangchuan tilted his head and glanced at Saint Marcus, who lay slumped on the ground.