Jian Wufeng's eyes widened in sudden horror. Three hundred years ago, his senior brother had been killed during the war against the demonic sect. The realization struck him like a physical blow. "It is impossible. You... Demonic Ancestor Mo!"
"In the spirit," He laughed through Cang Yun's voice. "Hahaha!"
Jian Wufeng did not hesitate. His eyes turned bloodshot, and he raised his hand, instantly materializing three glowing swords of pure Qi. They hummed with terrifying pressure, the surrounding air growing so heavy that low-level disciples in the front rows gasped for breath. The three blades shot toward him like streaks of white lightning.
The Demonic Ancestor simply clicked his fingers, his eyes cold. "Be careful now."
Three nearby branded disciples suddenly lunged forward, their eyes vacant as they threw their bodies in front of the white light. The pure Qi swords pierced through their chests, piercing their hearts and killing them instantly.
