The black-clad man following Sikong Dou exuded a sinister aura. Even though it was broad daylight, seeing this man still felt like taking a step into the graveyard at midnight.
He possessed a kind of heavy momentum, which the ordinary person might not perceive, but Fang Che, being someone inherently brimming with killing aura, could sense it clearly.
It felt like a sea of condensed killing aura—vast and boundless, yet deep and silent.
Fang Che's heart shook intensely: Just how many must this person have killed to cultivate such an ocean-like killing aura?
The man entered the courtyard and slowly raised his head to look at Fang Che.
Fang Che saw clearly.
It was those eyes... lifeless like those of a dead fish.
"It's you!"
The man's voice was hoarse: "You wield the sword well, boy."
Fang Che stood up: "Lord Emperor Ye."
"What Emperor Ye is there now, but merely a dying man."
Emperor Ye spoke deeply: "No need to mention old titles."
