The twin emerald wind-blades tore through the courtyard.
They moved like runaway trains, carving trenches four feet deep into the stone. Gale-force wind screamed. Roof tiles exploded into fragments. Pine trees bowed toward the earth.
Deacon Zhao grinned with yellow teeth. “Die, mortal filth!”
Elder Wu sneered as his green broadsword hummed. “Break their bones! Scatter their ashes!”
Lin Mo did not blink.
He stood in the center of the gale with his hands in his pockets. His dark trench coat snapped like a battle banner, but his feet remained rooted to the flagstones.
These sect elders shout a lot before every swing, Lin Mo thought. In business, the people who bark loudest usually have the worst balance sheets.
Lin Mo pulled the heavy Taichu Black-Gold Benevolence Card from his coat pocket.
