Among the wooded mountains, Lian Youming wore Daoist robes and carried two swords on his back, not daring to pause even for a breath too long.
Had his body not been so powerful, his internal energy circulating in a self-sustaining cycle, his injuries alone would have left him collapsed from exhaustion halfway.
The sky gradually darkened.
The last light of sunset fell across his face, illuminating the hideous, mangled half of it. The terrible saber wound stretched from the corner of his mouth almost to his ear.
It was the first time he had suffered an external wound like this.
His feet never stopped as he raced along, intent on returning as soon as possible. But as he passed through the border region between Guangdong, Hunan, and Jiangxi, crossing a place called Wanshi Mountain under cover of night, several unusual traces of qi suddenly sprang up along the mountain path.
Sensing something wrong, Lian Youming immediately held his breath and concealed his own qi.
This was a critical moment. A battle between Mystic Connection masters had erupted in the South, and experts from across the Northern and Southern Martial Arts World were rushing to its aid. These people were hiding here; without even thinking about it, they clearly had some other purpose.
Beneath scattered starlight, mountains rose and fell on every side, stretching on without end.
Lian Youming hid behind a boulder, straining his eyes. His gaze had swept barely halfway around the mountains before he spotted something amiss.
There were six people in all.
Four Old-Era Martial Artists and two foreigners, one old and one young. The elder looked to be around seventy, with blond hair and white skin, and actually wore the red robes of the Catholic Church.
Lian Youming immediately thought of the Thirteen Hongs over