Gasps rippled across the vast hall of the Rising Sun Pavilion. Thousands of cultivators almost sprained their necks, half of them jumping onto the wooden railings, their mouths wide open.
"Holy shit! He got skewered!"
" Heavens!"
"Is he dead? Did someone really just kill Mister Treasure right on stage?"
Before the murmurs could even spread, the skewered body on the wooden floor twitched.
*POP!*
The blood-soaked iron spear vanished into thin air like black mist. Mister Treasure stood straight up, dusting his sharp coat and adjusting his silver mask. The bloody hole in his chest closed up in a single heartbeat, leaving behind pristine black fabric without even a stray wrinkle.
Mister Treasure rested both hands on his black cane and let out an amused, mocking berate.
