That single sword move made everyone at the table narrow their eyes, their cheeks twitching.
What a vicious sword technique.
Yang Shuang carried the token. Until they actually had it in hand, none of them wanted to fight unless necessary, much less drive her into a corner. With A Xing carrying explosives as well, they could not act rashly and had to sit there.
And so Lian Youming had become their opening, the weak point they could use to force Yang Shuang to submit.
But how was that sword strike a weak point?
Sword in hand, Lian Youming advanced toward the bladesmen and assassins with measured, rhythmic steps.
There were no unnecessary words. Below, men rowed small boats over and rapidly climbed aboard, while skilled fighters had also been lying in hiding on the ship. Attacking from both bow and stern, they all deliberately bypassed those at the table and charged at Lian Youming.
These men were desperadoes from Hong Kong's Walled City-violent criminals, villains, trained assassins, or skilled underworld fighters. Presumably their bosses had promised them some reward. Murder gleamed in their eyes, their expressions cold, yet a bloodthirsty frenzy lurked in their gazes. A thick, baleful aura surrounded them from head to toe; most had lives on their hands.
They carried not only sabers, but short daggers, staffs, axes, Emei piercers, paired sabers, mandarin duck axes...
A cursory glance told Lian Youming there were at least a dozen different kinds of weapons.
Lian Youming moved, turning his wrist and releasing his strength. Beneath the lamplight, his sword instantly became a mass of snowy brilliance, churning like a millstone. He pressed into the crowd, and a bloody storm erupted at once, severed limbs scattering across the deck.
People said the sword relied on lightness and agility, but in his