Of course, they were all Chilin people being killed.
Since the black-clad warriors were only killing the Chilin people and not them, Ye Zhi wasn't too worried.
But.
The bamboo pole was so thin, the river five meters wide, yet the black-clad warriors could maintain balance, crossing the bamboo pole as if on flat ground, running swiftly and lightly, like swallows in flight.
And judging from the swift actions where each slash of the black-clad warriors brought down a Chilin soldier, these black-clad warriors were undoubtedly masters.
Ye Zhi frowned. Where did so many masters come from?
Based on visual estimation... there should be about four or five hundred of them.
From her perspective, it looked like a dense mass of black.
With the addition of the black-clad warriors, the Chilin soldiers only ended up falling; each sword strike from the black-clad warriors was swift, ruthless, and precise, instantly claiming the lives of Chilin soldiers.
