The wooden door of the council hall slammed loudly against the frame under the force of the mountain wind. Ye Fan's palm pressed down on the mottled sandalwood table, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. Outside, the sounds of battle rolled across the fields like distant thunder. He could clearly hear the friction of heavy black iron armor—the elite death squad from Nether Palace had already crossed the threshing floor outside the village, and mixed in with the thud of hooves came the dull clanking of iron chains dragged along the ground, the telltale sign of their favored "Soul-Lock Formation" vanguard.
"Everyone, sit." As he raised his head, his gaze swept over the four women one by one. The pearl hairpin in Su Qingxue's hair gleamed coldly in the torchlight; bits of grass clinging to it from when she had crouched at the village entrance to set tripwire mines were now being flicked away with casual indifference. Chǔ Hóngzhuāng's fingertips were still stained with the blood of a Gu Insect, and she was using a silver needle to test the medicinal patterns on a batch of antidote pills by candlelight. Lin Zhaoyue's sword tassel drooped against her knees, trembling slightly with her tense spine. Qín Wǎnshuāng's iron spear leaned obliquely against her chair, the spearhead still congealed with un-wiped blood—the blood of that centurion from just moments ago.
Su Han brought a gust of wind with him as he lifted the door curtain, the plum-blossom needle pouch at his waist c…
Chapter 395