Lan Peizhi's prowess exceeded everyone's expectations.
In just under a minute, more than a dozen people had fallen tragically.
"Ah!"
Another one had his tendons severed, as the cold butterfly knife brought up scalding blood that cruelly slashed across his face following his arm.
"Clang."
The dagger hit the ground.
The assassin's right hand hung limply, his face now sporting a shocking and horrific wound from the corner of his mouth to his forehead, emanating inhuman screams of agony.
Lan Peizhi's face was expressionless, like a blood-colored Guanyin devoid of emotions. Without the slightest pause, she moved elegantly among the dense assassins as if drifting clouds and flowing snow, every frame filled with a backdrop of brilliant crimson.
A bloody massacre!
These fierce assassins had probably never seen such a woman, and despite their line of work, the continuous fall of their comrades chilled their hearts. For a moment, they hesitated, stepping back.
