With a flick of the wrist, the Messenger Eagle soared into the sky.
Soon it disappeared from sight.
Su Mo looked up into the distance, nodded slightly, and was about to turn and leave.
Suddenly, he paused.
In a flash, he stood behind a tree, secretly observing, and saw three people coming closer from afar.
Amidst intersecting shadows, punches flew incessantly, battling fiercely in the rain.
Su Mo frowned slightly, for he had seen all three of them before.
The one being attacked was the white-robed swordsman from the hall earlier.
His steps were scattered and chaotic, the longsword still sheathed, but his hand strikes were exceptionally skilled.
Earlier, in the hall, he had drawn gasps of amazement; no one knew where he came from.
But Su Mo understood clearly.
This man had followed Zhang Meng and his group, and after they settled, the swordsman leaned against a pillar.
Drinking by himself.
Seeing him in action now, his martial arts were indeed extraordinary.
