Wang Anfeng saw that all the martial artists were intimidated by him; his heart slowly calmed, and he took the initiative. His right hand slightly lifted, ready to draw his sword and subdue the remaining few people.
But at that moment, he sensed a faint murderous intent from afar, fleeting in an instant. For a short moment, he felt a slight chill and understood that the person harboring the intent to kill him was not weak, certainly not comparable to the martial artists before him.
If he were to draw his sword directly, his back would be wide open—a perfect opportunity for a sneak attack.
With thoughts racing in his mind, his palm paused slightly. He did not lift his wooden sword, but casually clenched his fist and let it rest at his side.