"Tan Lang, Po Jun, the fun is here, let's move, kill."
Starving Ghost looked at the people rushing towards him, a cruel smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He took the lead, moving like a phantom, flickering unpredictably, as the dagger in his hand turned into a blur, whistling out.
"Swoosh!" "Swoosh!" "Swoosh!"
Continuous sounds rang out, and several ninjas didn't even have the chance to scream before their throats were slashed, dead beyond doubt.
Meanwhile, Tan Lang stepped back in an instant, grabbing the bowstring with his right hand, an arrow of energy whistling out. The moment it flew out, it exploded, transforming into countless arrows, piercing the air with a shrill sound, turning several ninjas into beehives.
The blade in Tan Lang's hand became a scythe of death, mowing forward relentlessly. Wherever it went, rivers of blood followed, stopping virtually no one in their tracks. In a short time, many ninjas were already dead by his hand.
"Damn it!"
