Sanzang hesitated no longer. He transformed into a dim, golden streak of light and fled westward in a wretched state, dragging a long afterimage of blood mist.
At that moment, Xu Yunfan, plummeting stiff as a board, was less than a hundred feet from the hard, cold bluestone plaza of the Wansheng Sword Sect.
On the plaza, countless low-level disciples of the Wansheng Sword Sect looked to the sky and could now clearly see his tightly shut eyes, his bloodless face, and his faint breath.
Some were astonished, some were wary, and some even subconsciously tightened their grip on their sword hilts.
After all, the man's origins were unknown. Although the sword light had scattered his aura, the more perceptive among them could still detect a faint, residual trace of malevolence and demonic energy.
However, in the instant before Xu Yunfan made fatal contact with the cold plaza—an instant that should have drawn a wave of horrified gasps...
The unexpected occurred once more.
