In the reed marsh, the killing intent was so thick it felt tangible.
The fat on Wang Hai's face trembled as a vicious glint flashed in his eyes.
Zhao Kang's aura was even heavier, as solid as iron. Geng Metal True Qi circulated throughout his body. He clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking like popping beans, poised to strike.
Chen Qing tightened his grip on the Cold Chiyi Spear.
The night air grew cooler, the only sound the soft rustle of river water lapping against the reeds.
Time seemed to freeze.
The next moment, Wang Hai's corpulent frame shot forward, his movements surprisingly swift and slick, belying his size.
He was a disciple of the Gui Water Institute, well-versed in the yielding nature of Gui Water. His Step Technique was like walking on waves, leaving only shallow prints on the muddy ground.
