The shadows beneath the vaulted ceiling of the judgment hall didn’t merely stretch. They ripped apart like blackened cloth.
Thirty elite shadow guards of the Inquisitorial Guard plunged downward in a timed together delta-wing dive formation. Each guard was a genuine 7-Star Saint realm combat specialist, trained from childhood in the lethal art of the Silent Soul-Severing Net. Their black spirit-silk cloaks swallowed the surrounding light. Their serrated iron soul-chains whistled through the air like hunting vipers, barbed hooks gleaming with dark, bone-melting corpse venom.
Their objective was not Frank. Their target was the five young students leaning against the base of the third dark rock pillar.
“Take them alive!” Grand Elder Yan Gu screamed from his dragon-throne, his voice echoing off the stone arches like a cracked war horn. “Break their spines! Shatter their knees! Bind their tongues in soul-suppressing iron! Let this mortal dog watch his beloved pupils scream for mercy before his eyes!”
The thirty guards dropped with terrifying speed. Thirty chains, thirty 7-Star death-auras coalescing into an inescapable dome of black killing intent that sealed off all four spatial directions.
Frank, who had just stepped away from the calm sky-blue flames of the Nine-Yang Crucible, didn’t even turn his body. He walked calmly back toward his green folding camp chair, picked up his thermos from the side pocket. Then he unscrewed the cap with a heard, unrushed squeak.
