By the time Wang Chen had finished his killing spree, the street in front of the tavern was already covered with corpses.
Not a single body was intact; some were decapitated, others split in half, with blood converging into streams on the cobblestone surface, the air was diffused with a scent that flies relish.
Wang Chen recalled the Red Nether Sword and descended to the ground.
Centered on him, within a radius of several hundred steps, not the sound of a living person could be heard.
The bustling market had seemingly turned into an endless haunt of ghosts!
Clearly, everyone had been frightened by the brutal slaughter.
The Mysterious Intent Taoist brought along a large group of men to the meeting—considerate and cautious.
But this fifth-tier Purple Mansion cultivator, despite all his calculations, had not foreseen that he would fall here today, thus meeting his fate.
Together with a gang of fierce horse bandits, they were harvested by Wang Chen.
