So fast that the gang members could only see a blurry, cold gleam. So precise that every strike accurately found a weakness—the throat, the heart, under the ribs, between the brows...
There were no wasted motions, no flashy techniques. Every one of Qin Feng's strikes was a killing blow.
Another member of the Cyan Dragon Gang fell, his throat pierced through. His eyes were wide with Fear and indignation.
Another member of the Cyan Dragon Gang fell, a Longsword embedded in his chest. His body still twitched, his fingers grasping weakly at the air.
Another member of the Cyan Dragon Gang fell...
The screams in the wilderness gradually died down.
The men of the Cyan Dragon Gang finally began to feel Fear.
They looked at Qin Feng's blood-soaked figure, at the blood-drenched Longsword in his hand, at his eyes, so cold they held not a trace of warmth. A chill shot up from the soles of their feet to the tops of their skulls.
'What kind of archer is this?'
