'This should be the place!'
Fang Han was quite certain this was the warehouse where the medicinal field stored its herbs.
He didn't rush forward. Instead, he first used the "Thousand Mile Soul Lock" to carefully sense the auras around the warehouse.
He was checking for any hidden lookouts.
'No hidden lookouts, just these two guards!'
After a careful scan, Fang Han confirmed that only these two were guarding the warehouse.
However, they were not weak. Both were Seventh Grade Martial Artists, considered elite disciples even within the Netherworld Pavilion.
To take them out silently, he would need to be serious.
SWISH!
Fang Han silently closed in on the Netherworld Pavilion disciple on the left. He raised his right hand, treating his palm like a sword, and chopped at the side of the disciple's neck.
CRACK—
A faint crack of bone sounded as the head of the disciple on the left lolled to one side, his breathing ceasing instantly.
"There's—"
