Chapter 1142: Massacre of the City

"Young Master Mo, what exactly happened?"

Back at the inn, Elder Ji cautiously asked Mo Hua.

Though he loved pleasure, years of mingling with all kinds of cultivators had sharpened his wit, and now he sensed something was wrong.

Mo Hua had no wish to speak, but seeing Elder Ji's anxious expression and his own unease, he paused, then set up a formation to block sight and sound, and said slowly:

"This small relay town—all its cultivators—are doomed to die…"

When Ye Chen pressed the final black-and-white key, the piano sound abruptly ceased, leaving the private room in dead silence.

"If you hand over the pills and surrender peacefully, I may spare you a light punishment," Li Yang said, his eyes revealing a glint of greed.

"Fine." Xiao Qingshi watched the direction he left, which matched the one his sister had chosen yesterday.

Director Du glanced at Qian Yushuang; such a wealthy, beautiful, refined woman was beyond his reach—he could only shift his target to Long Yuning beside her.

Just like now, everything was scrambled and reorganized; soldiers from each unit came from at least a dozen factions and could not form a cohesive unit.

He had witnessed Nanqing's iron hooves trampling all directions, his heart surging—but he knew none of it belonged to the Ban family; it belonged to the hidden forces behind the scenes.

Zuo Zhou slowly turned; the speaker was a short man with a slightly yellow complexion, his full forehead making him unoffensive, even his smile pleasantly likable.

Under cover of night, the governor's mansion sent out a carriage, racing down the silent streets and swiftly leaving Li City.

The lock-picking skill was one of Zhongli You's learned skills from his past life as sect master, handy for certain tasks.

"Do you think, after what just happened, that even if I could replicate the same technique, I'd use it on you again?" Lu Ze said coldly; though his body now held not a single speck of true qi, he refused to retreat.

At this moment, Xu Ming was preparing to leave the Eighth Quadrant—he had come here only to eliminate the underlings; now that they were wiped out, staying longer held no purpose.

After swallowing a Peiyuan Pill and skipping dinner, the two tidied the courtyard and prepared to return to their rooms, when a knock came at the front gate—who could be visiting at this hour? They exchanged glances, then Xuan Yangzi went to open the door.

That time, Mourinho couldn't hold back—he told the media: "Chelsea reached the final because of the foundation I laid for the team."

Itachi's eyes narrowed slightly, a chill rising in his heart—how immense must one's will be to endure such agony without letting the mind shatter?

The lord of Fanhua Valley, one of the six rising powers of the martial world, whose Split-Heaven Whip Art had defeated countless opponents, was cleanly defeated by Wutong.

He dodged—but not fully. The cleat struck—but not fully. Ah Kun's spike grazed the front of He Lian's shin guard; He Lian stubbornly charged forward three steps, then collapsed with a cry of "Oy!"

Karl muttered softly at the main screen; people rarely expected to spot a target on the first test, but what the screen now displayed told him at least this battlefield perception system wasn't broken.

With no other interruptions, the meal lasted until past ten at night; Ma Jin and Deng Yang were both drunk, Zhao Qian even more so—but his enhanced physique left him unbothered. He escorted them downstairs, watching Honghong and Anjing each help one onto the car before they drove off.

The outsider's aura had apparently stirred the ancient beast of supreme power; its occasional low growls sounded deafening to Xiao He and the others.

Kind-hearted Aslan hated war most of all—the boy tried to convince himself so—but the red MS diving from the sky, and the familiar voice crackling in his headphones, forced him to face the truth.