Under the chaotic storm of spirit force, a large mass of black feathers melted away like snow under the scorching sun, revealing the disheveled figure of the Winged Race. He stood there, dazed and lost, searching for something all around.
The situation... seemed somewhat wrong!
His secret technique had evidently left the sword cultivator riddled with holes. The feedback he received was unmistakable; logically, that sword cultivator should be dead by now. But as he rushed forward to seize the treasure, the sword cultivator was nowhere to be seen!
The opponent disappeared magically, like an invisible wind, leaving no trace behind.
He had no time to continue the search. Following closely behind him were two figures flying swiftly. One on the left, the other on the right, encircled him, and one shouted angrily, "Leave the treasure gourd behind!"
