The young martial artists of Thompson Village rushed forward.
Instantly, the situation went out of control.
However, in the Thompson ancestral hall, a white-robed youth stood with his hands behind his back. His face was expressionless, and his deep eyes were coldly watching everything that was happening.
Things had reached this point.
There was nothing wrong with the Thompson Village being labeled as rebels.
Braydon Neal lightly tapped the leaves with the tip of his toes. His white clothes fluttered in the wind, and his left hand formed a claw. The black cold sword at Sammy Dudley's waist left its scabbard and flew backward.
The moment Braydon held the sword, his thin body released a powerful aura.
The pressure was like a mountain, suppressing ten thousand people alone!
