The gaunt old man was barely breathing, sprawled on the ground like a beast on the verge of death.
Chen Yang wiped the blood from his hands, his expression methodical and serious.
Qin Song and Fei Min were about to lose their minds.
They had held a sliver of hope for the old man, but this was the result…
An eighth-rank Fist Master, defeated so easily? Who… who in the world is this person?
HUFF. HUFF.
Qin Song gasped for air, his expression tense as he stared up at Chen Yang.
When he saw the faint smile on Chen Yang's lips, he felt as if he had plunged into an icy cavern, a chill piercing him to the bone.
The smile was light, like a breeze.
But for some reason, Qin Song felt a dense, suffocating wave of Yin Evil Qi from it. Under its assault, his hair stood on end, and the blood in his veins threatened to freeze solid.
He's… he's going to kill me? This…
