Chen Ping, man and horse united, Qi and blood flowing, thrust out a sword, seemingly like instant teleportation, traversing ten zhang of space.
The fierce wind howled from all directions, the sky's clouds rolled chaotically, torn into patches.
Ji Xuange, the first to face this onslaught, was about to ride away when he found himself locked onto by a Qi Mechanism, seeing mountains of corpses and seas of blood surge forward. His body turned cold, paralyzed.
The ambition of past days, the sense of accomplishment a moment ago vanished, Ji Xuange's mind went blank, his mouth opened in a frantic shout: "Ancestor, save me."
Cui Yun and Cui Hao, standing behind him, sprang into action immediately.
"You have nerves, kid."
Cui Yun's form floated up, like a cloud, hovering in mid-air, swept by the mighty wind to ascend opposingly, slashing a sword diagonally, already blocking the way.
The sword edge vibrated and sliced, chopping at Chen Ping's neck.
