Shallow Night had not yet fallen, everything was enveloped in thick darkness, the dense forest lining the road cast its branches in disarray upon the whistling cold wind, like swathes of ghostly shadows swaying.
In this deep night, Qin Ming decisively swung the blade, as if a lightning bolt tore through the gloom, instantly shattering the previous sense of oppression.
The black fog struck at this moment, with a dense malignance, intending to envelop both people, swallowing them in the vast shadows.
Under such starless and moonless conditions, others naturally saw nothing, but Qin Ming saw it clearly and felt the chill of the black fog; as it approached, bone-chilling cold assailed him.
With a hiss, like a hot knife through butter, the short blade coated with mineral paint penetrated the black fog, making the icy chill boil.
