Jian Yi had never faced an opponent this formidable. His sword aura was being steadily forced back beneath the other man’s true energy.

Sword aura was his weakness. Though his swordsmanship was superb, his internal energy was not the equal of Jiuqing’s or Mu Mu’s.

With a sharp hiss, he thrust his sword forward — a strike into which he had poured every last ounce of his lifelong skill.

And yet that sword aura did no more than carve open a single crack in the other man’s net of true energy — only to be forced entirely back in the very next instant.

Xue Gu watched in frantic desperation, eyes straining wide, wanting to throw herself forward to help, and yet she could not so much as lift a single finger.

If this continued, Jian Yi would end up just like her — his seven orifices forced to bleed under the black-clad man’s true energy, gravely injured unto death.

A moment ago, the black-clad man could have taken her life outright, yet for some reason, he had held back at the last moment.

Had he not, she would already be a corpse.

But with Jian Yi it was different — the black-clad man was showing him no mercy whatsoever.

“Jian…” Xue Gu opened her mouth, only for another wave of blood to surge up with a wet sound, cutting off what she had meant to say before she could finish it.

Jian Yi was already beyond escape. Was she really going to watch helplessly as he was crushed to death by the other man’s true energy?

He was still so young…

Then suddenly, two figures appeared in the night sky. With a speed that left no time to react, they hurled themselves at the black-clad man with tremendous force.

With a thunderous crash, the true energy that had enveloped Jian Yi completely shattered outward like an explosion, its remaining force scattering in all directions.

The roof tiles were blasted apart and sent flying everywhere, clattering down onto the ground all around with a rapid succession of sharp cracks.

One person lifted Xue Gu from the ground, swept a long sleeve outward, and deflected every shard of debris that came flying toward her.

The other gathered up Qiaomu, who was still unconscious in the street, tucked her under an arm, dodged the lethal tile fragments, and in the blink of an eye landed under a tree not far away.

Jian Yi, gasping for breath, descended from the rooftop and retreated quickly back to the group.

“Ji…” Xue Gu looked at the man who had set her down and tried to speak, but the churning blood energy in her chest would not allow her to form a single word.

Jiuqing paid no attention to that. His entire focus was fixed on the man standing on the rooftop.

A moment ago, the true energies of three people had collided simultaneously — and yet the terrifying backlash of that collision had not left so much as a mark on him.

The black-clad masked man still stood in the night — the wind lifted his long hair, and the pallid moonlight fell across his mask, making him look utterly devoid of life.

A man who seemed to have long since died inside — his entire being saturated with the aura of death.

Whether that death came for them or for himself, the outcome was the same.

Either way, tonight, someone was going to die here.

That kind of presence — it was simply terrifying.

Jian Yi pressed a hand over his heart and waited for the churning blood energy within him to gradually settle.

His voice was hoarse. “What terrifying sword aura.”

“He’s wounded.” Mu Mu looked up at the masked figure making his slow approach, his large palm clenching tightly.

“If he weren’t wounded, even the three of us together would likely be unable to deal with him.”

Jian Yi was struck by this — utterly dumbfounded.

What kind of extraordinary existence was this? Even without injuries, the three of them combined might not have the advantage?

But if that was the case, their opponent was currently wounded — wasn’t this the one and only opportunity they had to defeat him?

Taking advantage of someone’s injuries was not something any of them were willing to do. But this man had come at them with lethal intent from the very first move, every strike aimed to kill.

If they failed to respond, it was a certain death.

“Get them out of here first.” Jiuqing stepped forward.

Mu Mu’s face was set and grim as he moved to stand at his side.

In an instant the two men had leapt onto the rooftop, and stood facing the black-clad man.

Jian Yi had barely hesitated when all three dark silhouettes were already locked in combat — and in an instant, the wind screamed and the sky seemed to shift, the force of their palm strikes laying waste to everything around them.

Jian Yi had not wanted to leave. But when he watched a large tree not far away snap clean in two from someone’s palm force, his foot that had started to move came right back.

Left with no choice, he hefted both women at once — pulling Xue Gu up with one hand and gathering up the still-unconscious Qiaomu with the other — and made his retreat at full speed.

The palm force between those three was far too overwhelming. If Xue Gu or Qiaomu were accidentally struck in their current state, wound upon wound would certainly mean death.

Above the rooftop, all three figures remained entangled in battle.

The palm force had essentially demolished everything around them that could be destroyed.

Several townspeople on the street below panicked and scrambled away, retreating far into the distance.

In the night sky, the very air seemed to tear apart, the moonlight itself ripped into fragments.

Then came another thunderous crash. Something struck Mu Mu’s arm — with a sharp tearing sound, the flesh split open, and the scent of blood immediately spread outward.

Jiuqing stepped back several paces, raised a palm, and steadied Mu Mu. Only then did Mu Mu regain his footing, barely managing to hold himself upright.

Feng Li, too, was driven back several paces by the combined force of their two palm strikes. Blood slid from the corner of his lips, and across his chest, a crimson flower bloomed and spread.

The wound from Feng Qiongcang’s strike that morning — it had now torn open again, and blood was flowing freely.

Yet he seemed entirely impervious to pain. With a sharp exhale, his agile form surged forward, and he drove a palm strike toward Jiuqing and Mu Mu.

He was relentless, utterly disregarding his own body, not even caring if it cost him his life — he would not stop until he had taken theirs.

Watching that figure bear down on them, Mu Mu’s pupils contracted sharply.

This man was like a killing instrument — as though he had no thoughts of his own, no emotions of his own.

His sole purpose in coming here was to kill them, and his own life seemed to matter not the slightest to him.

In this world — how could there exist such a formidable tool for killing? Whose orders did he answer to, and who on earth had the power to command someone this extraordinary?

Jiuqing wiped away the blood at the corner of his lips with the back of his hand. He gathered his entire lifelong power into his palm. And at last, driven to this point by the other man’s true energy, killing intent began to rise like a tide from the depths of his eyes.

Mu Mu’s breath was ragged and uneven. He looked up — the black-clad man’s entire being was saturated with deathly stillness, and the force of his palm strike had already reached his face.

Jiuqing surged forward to meet it. The true energy beneath his palm, like a sharpened blade, surged with a savage and ferocious intensity.

This single strike — someone would be gravely wounded, perhaps even killed.

Mu Mu gritted his teeth and poured every last shred of his remaining internal energy into a single palm strike, throwing himself into the collision.

Several sharp crashes in quick succession — the great trees nearby were caught up in the roaring wind, their branches snapping, withered twigs and dead leaves sweeping up to engulf heaven and earth.

The mist was heavy and dim, the moonlight swallowed by the swirling debris and chaos.

In the instant their combined palm forces met, it was as though the world were ending. A searing pain instantly spread through every corner of their hearts.

Mu Mu spat out a mouthful of blood. A crimson streak slid from the corner of Jiuqing’s lips.

Feng Li’s expression remained blank — only the wound on his chest was torn violently open, blood rushing out in a torrent.

That face, already almost drained of color, went in an instant pale as paper, ashen as dust.

Those cold, remote eyes, under the crushing weight of such tremendous internal force, gradually lost their light.

He had clearly sustained grave injuries, and yet the sheer force of his will drove him on like a man with no consciousness, no awareness of self — a man already dead. He poured out every last measure of his power and pressed onward toward them.

Mu Mu spat out another mouthful of blood, teeth clenched hard.

This battle had no end in sight. If it continued like this, all three of them would certainly die here.