The vibrantly colored Yin Serpents were seemingly endless. The patterns and hues on their bodies formed one ferocious face after another. These faces glared at Yang Jing, as if trying to see right through him.
Within Yang Jing's sea of consciousness, an azure Divine Dragon immediately flared with light, protecting it.
Suddenly, an arm, supple as a serpent, shot out from the mass of snakes, grabbing for Yang Jing's neck.
The hand moved like lightning, far faster than the Yin Serpents.
Yang Jing's eyes shifted, locking onto the arm. The heavy two-handed greatsword in his hands felt as light as a reed. He swung it down in an instant, slicing into the limb.
The sharp blade sliced deep into the arm, severing it cleanly.
As if on signal, the surging tide of snakes instantly retreated, disappearing into the darkness.
