With a swoosh, Zhao Mu stepped forward, his speed surprisingly fast. As he retreated, the air shook, and he darted out, swinging the sword in his hand. It slashed through that disciple's chest, causing a large amount of blood to spill.
That disciple seemed to feel nothing, continuing to shake his head as if what was in his mind was far more terrifying than the pain of his wound.
He kept running for a few breaths, during which blood kept dripping, and eventually, he collapsed weakly onto the water, dead.
"Something's off!"
The expressions of the crowd tightened. Even if they were stupid, they sensed something was strange. It wouldn't matter if Zhao Mu killed others, but he was killing his sect's disciple now.
This disciple was exceptionally talented, and such rampant slaughter must have some reason.
The key to this likely lay in the longsword in his hand, which they previously deemed a treasure.
