The Long Mountain army, which was originally heading towards the Hanqiong Camp, suddenly turned and came towards him. With three formidable Cold Resistance Level fighters heading straight for him, Xia Hong couldn't fail to react.
In this emergency, there was no time to ponder why.
Clang... Clang... Clang...
Xia Hong's clothes billowed, his skin tightened; he swiftly parried the longsword in the middle, then drew back his blade, and in a flash, clashed with a broadsword and a spear separately.
"So fast!"
The longsword at Twelve鬃, the broadsword at Eleven鬃, and the spear at Ten鬃.
Xia Hong ignored the exclamations overhead. From those simple collisions, he could clearly gauge the strength of the three, and then he abruptly turned and sprinted towards the iron gate.
Thud, thud, thud... Thud...
Hundreds of sharp arrows rained down, striking his back.
This was why Xia Hong was sprinting.
