After a dull thud, more than twenty people successively leapt out from both sides of the street.
They were all dressed in black, their faces obscured, making it impossible to tell whether they were male or female.
"Do you want my life, or the Xuantian Sword?" Yang Fan, standing there, immediately asked.
The person at the front spoke with a cold voice, but no longer in a threatening tone: "We only want the Xuantian Sword." He stated clearly.
"Do you still want it now?" Yang Fan asked again.
"We have no grievances with you. We only wanted the Xuantian Sword. Now that it's come to this, we no longer want it." At this time, these more than twenty people, no matter how skillful, dared not be arrogant in the face of the Xuantian Sword — wasn't that courting death?
"If I hadn't killed these twelve people, I fear you wouldn't be saying that now."
