At Black Stone Ridge, the mountainous momentum was steep and the rocks grotesque and jagged. The ridge was perpetually shrouded from the sun, its yin energy so heavy that birds and beasts rarely ventured near.
At that moment, a deadly chase was unfolding on a rugged path along the ridge.
The man fleeing for his life was an elder of about sixty. His once-luxurious brocade robe was now tattered and smeared with dust and blood.
His graying hair was a mess, and his face was gaunt. A trickle of fresh blood stained the corner of his mouth. This was none other than Zhu Xin, the highly respected Second Master of the Zhu Family.
He clutched one hand to his chest as if protecting something precious within his robes, while his other hand gripped a Treasure Sword.
Dozens of yards behind him, a youthful figure shadowed his every move, relentlessly closing in.
The man appeared to be only twenty-seven or twenty-eight, his features cold and severe.
