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In the hall, Lu Dongjun came forward one step at a time, slow and deliberate, like a man who knew the floor would never give way beneath his feet. There was not the slightest hint of mercy in him.
He did not need to think. Wan Jinxian and Si Wennian stood solidly at his back, as dependable as pillars. He was a level-eight Martial Cultivator. Qiu Zhiheng was a level-seven Hedonism Cultivator. The space was sealed tight, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. By any sensible measure, losing was not an option.
Fortunately, Qiu Zhiheng wielded an iron whip, allowing him to barely withstand two exchanges. The whip was no ordinary thing. It was a seven-segment artifact, each section writhing with its own will. Hidden weapons lurked within, snapping out to strike or curling back to defend. It had been forged from the remains of a level-eight martial cultivator.
After a few sharp clashes, Lu Dongjun reached out and caught the whip with his bare hand. He smiled at Qiu Zhiheng. It was a thin, icy smile that seemed to drain the warmth from the hall.
“This was my elder brother’s,” he said softly. “How did it end up with you? Were you there that night? Were you one of the people who tried to kill him?”
Lu Dongliang had given the artifact to Qiu Zhiheng. Hedonism Cultivators were weak in close combat, but...
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