Jiang Ke’er stood at the eye of the storm, the distorted and blurred wall of raging wind just a step away from her.
Flying swords and charging cultivators intertwined, with occasional bursts of blood mist in the fierce wind, jumping and mixing into the vortex—that was the last protest from severed arteries.
The gale suddenly ceased, and Jiang Ke’er looked around exhaustedly.
Broken limbs and severed arms, mixed with scattered weapons, clattered down from the sky.
She raised a wind barrier above her head, which blocked the debris, but blood poured down around her like a waterfall.
In the distance, the Rakshasa Sect cultivators who had survived due to their flying swords watched her in horror, hastily summoning their flying swords to counterattack.
Jiang Ke’er symbolically parried a few blows, then suddenly grew impatient, stepping forward to close the distance.
Having just recovered a bit of spiritual power in the eye of the storm, Jiang Ke’er began to spend it recklessly again without restraint.
Her mind was too weary to think, so she relied on instinct to dodge attacks, then used the dull sword in her hand to sever a part of her opponent.
When she came back to her senses, there were no more breathing Rakshasa Sect disciples around.
