The violet crystal blades didn’t pause to exchange courtesies.
Before Mu Chen’s voice had even finished echoing off the damp brick vault, his slender index finger flicked forward.
SHING-SHING.
Three of the six floating swords broke into immediate, faster-than-sound motion. They didn’t fly along broad, visible arcs. They streaked through the rotten-egg darkness like three needle-thin laser beams, their edges inscribed with the patented Violet Cloud Decapitation Script.
The air behind them spark-charged into a sharp, acrid scent of ozone and burning quartz.
Their target was Lin Ke’s throat, right shoulder, and main neck blood vessel.
Meng Shan moved to step forward. But the floodwaters around his shins were three feet deep. His four-hundred-pound iron slab was committed to shielding the bleeding Lu Feng and Apothecary He behind his back.
Lin Ke was alone on the open water.
