Oriole at the Back

The caravan had stopped in the forest sparse with trees. More than twenty Sword Sect disciples dressed in white stood on the snow and surrounded it. Each of them had an amazing presence, or at the very least, they were all powerful existences against whom the coachmen of the mighty northern clan could not hope to fight against. 

When Stallion Glory, the only Moksha Realm martial artist in the caravan, noticed the strength of the Sword Sect disciples, he forced himself to squeeze out an obsequious smile. 

"I see, so it's our brothers from Sword Sect. I've heard of your name for a long time."

"Enough with the nonsense," the Sword Sect disciples in the lead ordered impatiently. "Move now! Bring out all the logs in the carriage!"

"Huh?"

The mighty northern coachmen were stunned. They did not understand the meaning behind Sword Sect's actions. 

"Why are you still daydreaming?! Hurry up and act! Or else, don't blame me for not showing mercy!"