The swordsman floated in midair with a relaxed look on his face, seeming to have been waiting for a long time. Faint wisps of energy swirled around him, and he was wreathed in an unspeakable, bizarre aura. Meanwhile, the sword behind his back glowed with a faint red light.
Even if this group of black-clad cultivators had not seen much of the world, they could still recognize the aura of an expert. As a result, the ink-colored dragon chariot was forced to stop.
One of the cultivators flew out of the ranks and asked politely, "May I know my lord's name and the reason for blocking our way?"
The swordsman slowly turned around. His sharp-featured face was smiling, but there was a strange feeling in that smile, vague and hard to explain. With his arms crossed, he spoke like a gentleman, "I'm sorry."
"Oh, so it is a misunderstanding. Alright, then," the cultivator cupped his fist and said, "Farewell."
