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Swoosh!
The rain kept falling, a continuous, hazy drizzle cascading from the heavens above.
Outside the Xianglu Mountain Range was now a picture of tranquility, with only the pitter-patter of rain and the sharp, acrid scent of blood discernible.
Indeed, blood, all of it fresh blood.
Droplets of blood converged into meandering streams, flowing like a creek at everyone's feet.
It submerged the land, the shoes, and with them, numerous pieces of shredded flesh.
Those mysterious forces that were so sure of themselves, clutching black longswords, as well as the disciples of the Hehuan Sect were all dead.
Crushed effortlessly by Fang Yang with a single slap, blood and flesh scattered in all directions.
The breeze still blew, but those figures had completely vanished, as if they never existed.
Plip!
Plip!