Seeing this scene, the others froze in shock. The man in green, a sixth-rank Loose Immortal, had been slain by Chen Ping with a single strike, without even a chance to fight back.
They began to retreat, staring at Chen Ping in terror.
But Chen Ping paid them no mind, his brows furrowed as he gazed into the void.
He sensed several auras locking onto him, each one terrifyingly powerful.
“If a fight breaks out, run immediately,” Chen Ping said to Mo Qingyun.
“I won’t abandon you!” Mo Qingyun shook her head.
“If you escape, I’ll have no worries. If you stay, you’ll distract me,” Chen Ping insisted.
Mo Qingyun knew he was right and nodded, “Have you sensed something?”
“Someone’s coming, and they’re strong,” Chen Ping replied.
As soon as he spoke, the surrounding void began to tremble, and three figures slowly emerged.
With their appearance, the air around them seemed to freeze under an even more terrifying pressure.
Mo Qingyun clung tightly to his sleeve, her fingertips cold, while the scattered cultivators who had been blocking them earlier retreated thousands of miles away, gazing up at the void with faces full of abject fear.
“Hum…”
The space cracked like shattered glass, and the three figures stepped out amid blinding golden light.
The leader was an old man in a dark purple Eight Trigrams robe, its hem embroidered with swirling star patterns. With each step, faint golden runes appeared beneath his feet.
His face was gaunt, his white hair like snow, tied with a dark green bamboo hairpin.
His half-closed eyes seemed almost sleepy, but the occasional glint in them pierced the scattered cultivators below like ten-thousand-year-old ice.
He leaned on a dragon-headed cane, its eyes made of two dark red gems that faintly glowed with a blood-like light. Each time the cane touched the ground, ripples spread through the void.
Most terrifying was his aura, like a dormant abyss, calm on the surface but hiding a fearsome power that could devour everything.
The burly middle-aged man behind him was entirely different.
Bare-chested, his bronze skin was covered in ferocious scars, each like a coiled dragon or python. His knotted muscles brimmed with explosive strength.
His mere presence caused the surrounding space to groan with a “crack” as if it couldn’t bear the weight.
He wore black beast-hide trousers, a broken blade hanging at his waist. The blade was pitch-black, radiating a murderous aura that made souls tremble.
His rugged face, with thick, arched brows and bell-like eyes, fixed on Chen Ping with unmasked greed and ferocity, like a prehistoric beast eyeing its prey.
The last to appear was a beautiful woman exuding an eerie charm.
She wore a fiery red gown, its hem embroidered with golden threads forming otherworldly flowers. As she moved, a dark fragrance wafted, captivating and soul-snaring.
Her beauty was breathtaking—snow-white skin, delicate brows, and peach-blossom eyes that seemed to drip with water. Yet deep within those eyes lurked a cold, venomous killing intent, like a snake’s hiss.
Her glossy black hair was tied with a blood-red jade hairpin, a few strands falling by her cheeks, adding to her eerie allure.
She toyed with a blood-red bell in her hand. Each gentle shake produced a seductive sound that pierced the soul, causing lower-level cultivators to clutch their ears in agony.
As the three appeared, the spiritual energy of the heavens seemed to solidify. The terrifying pressure of ninth-rank Loose Immortals poured down like a galactic river, making it hard for all living beings below to even breathe.
