Yang Fan, holding the Xuantian Sword, had a faint, undetectable smile at the corner of his mouth, and it passed with a smile.
Gripping the Xuantian Sword, he charged into the group of ten, swung his sword, and the overwhelming sword light tore the pitch-black sky in half.
One unlucky person was swept by the sword light, and his entire body turned into a heap of mangled flesh.
The smell of blood was pervasive, and corpses flew everywhere.
In an instant, there were only nine left out of twelve.
Facing the terrifying Xuantian Sword, the remaining nine were frightened.
After landing, they stood there, glancing at each other.
Finally, the leader among them spoke: "Yang Fan, you hold the Xuantian Sword, we concede. There's no need to fight anymore; we can discuss our matters another day."
Hahaha!
Yang Fan roared to the sky, "Discuss another day? Letting you go is like releasing a tiger back to the mountains. Will your people at Chimu Peak gather forces to kill me another day?"
