Blood blossomed across the forest floor.
With a heavy thump, the right foot of twenty men stamped forcefully onto the ground.
The friction of their battle armor produced a harsh, murderous noise. The sudden stop exerted pressure on muscles and organs, which the Qing Taoqi endured expressionlessly. The gust of wind from their rapid charge had not yet dissipated when they violently turned around with their sabers drawn.
It was as if cold plums suddenly burst into bloom.
The twenty frigid blades of the waist sabers twirled in coordination, protecting their comrades' backs while attacking the enemy. In just an instant, four or five martial artists from the Liu Sword Sect lay dead on the ground.
