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"Ling'er!"
A hysterical roar echoed, and Chen Luo pushed through the onlookers. He looked at the blood sprawled across the ground, trembling all over, his face full of despair.
The others snapped back to their senses, retreating in fear.
"On guard!"
A middle-aged cultivator shouted in a deep voice, instinctively looking toward Yang Jian.
Only a Saint King could have such means to kill Xu Ling right in front of them.
Yang Jian raised his head and sent out his divine sense rapidly, yet he couldn't capture any suspicious aura.
Chen Luo knelt before the blood, unable to accept the reality before him. Earlier, he had felt like the happiest man in the world; now it was as if he had fallen into hell.
In Yang Jian's arms, Xiaochuan seemed to sense something and began to wail but Chen Luo couldn't care for him now.
The head of the Chen family approached Yang Jian and frowned, asking, "Saint King, what happened?"