Jin Yuansi, hailing from a small sect, instinctively held his breath.
In front of him, and in front of everyone, the thick brocade hanging at the entrance of the golden tent undulated like waves. Then, accompanied by silent footsteps, a person slowly walked out from inside.
He couldn't help but draw in a sharp breath, gripping his longsword tightly, his feelings of panic reaching an extreme, leaving his mind blank except for one thought that kept circling.
Who could be the one able to charge through thousands of troops to get here?
What did they look like?
How old were they?
Thirty, or fifty years old.
Then he saw the assassin's true appearance. In the winter sunlight, that face appeared particularly pale, almost translucent, with hard facial lines, black hair and eyes, an icy murderous aura. All of this combined couldn't hide one fact.
It was merely a young martial artist not much older than him.
