If you die, I will be able to inherit your cultivation.

Upon hearing this, Zhou Ming's face remained expressionless.

He didn't even bother to say another word to the stubborn old man, and simply raised his hand and gently beckoned behind him.

Hundreds of black-armored soldiers raised their spears in unison.

The spear tips gleamed silver in the sunlight, and they all stepped forward in unison toward the gate of the Zheng residence, the clanging of their armor resounding in perfect unison.

However, as Zhou Ming raised his hand, Zheng Yaoming had already quickly retreated.

Perhaps it's because he also cultivated the Transcendental Scripture.

His movements were faster than those of a 60-year-old man; in a flash, he retreated to the inside of the gate.

At the same time, as if by magic, hundreds of fully armed soldiers suddenly appeared in front of the Zheng mansion gate.

These men were all clad in fine iron armor, wielding long swords, and were robust and vigorous.

Among them, the aura of the leaders was particularly astonishing. Their blood and qi surged like boiling water, and the bluestone slabs beneath their feet trembled slightly with every move they made.

These are Blood Refining Realm martial artists who escaped from the Blood Pool Cage. The Zheng family didn't know what methods they used to recruit them into their ranks.

These people have now become the Zheng family's trump card.

As Zhou Ming rode on his horse, looking at the group of armored warriors with blood and energy like dragons, a faint, contemptuous smile appeared on his lips.

He didn't draw his sword, didn't make any hand gestures, and didn't even dismount.

Simply raise your right hand, bring your index and middle fingers together, and gently point them forward a little.

The imperial sword hanging beside his saddle moved.

No one saw how it was drawn; all that was heard was a clear, melodious sword cry.

A blinding flash of cold light erupted from the scabbard, and the sword transformed into a silver lightning bolt, shooting out from beside the saddle.

The sword light drew a smooth, almost perfect arc in mid-air, silently grazing the necks of several Blood Refining Realm warriors.

Those Blood Refining Realm warriors didn't even have time to react.

In their field of vision, all they saw was the thin young man on horseback casually waving his hand, and then a bright and fast silver light filled their entire field of vision.

The light was so bright that they instinctively wanted to close their eyes, but before their eyelids could close, they felt a chill on the back of their necks.

That was the last feeling they would ever experience in their lives.

In that instant, their consciousness was plunged into eternal darkness, and they didn't even realize that their heads had been separated from their necks.

Huge heads shot into the sky, spraying fountains of blood as they tumbled several times in mid-air before crashing heavily onto the bluestone pavement, rolling a few times before coming to a stop.

Only at this moment did those headless bodies collapse with a thud.

Blood gushed from the severed neck, seeping through the gaps between the armor plates and quickly spreading a glaring crimson across the bluestone slab.

In an instant, the entire street became eerily quiet.

Deathly silence. From one end of the street to the other, all became deathly silent.

The wind stopped, the birdsong stopped, and even the last few withered leaves on the locust tree branches wisely did not fall.

Everyone remained frozen in the same position.

His mouth was agape, his eyes were wide, and his pupils contracted sharply due to extreme terror.

Although the soldiers behind Zhou Ming had cultivated the Crossing the World Scripture, they were no longer unfamiliar with magic.

Several people even studied magic under Zhou Ming for a period of time.

But they had never seen Zhou Ming take action in person, and they had no idea that this usually smiling manager Zhou possessed such terrifying skills.

They knew perfectly well that it wasn't magic or martial arts.

It was a power they could not comprehend at all.

With a wave of his hand, a head fell to the ground, and the person didn't even see how they died.

The armored soldiers at the gate of Zheng's residence were terrified.

They knew better than anyone how terrifying those Blood Refining Realm warriors were.

Those are the strongmen who can take on a hundred men on the battlefield and reap lives as easily as cutting melons and vegetables.

They are the kind of people who don't even dare to breathe loudly in their daily lives.

But just now, right under their noses.

These Blood Refining Realm experts, whom the Zheng family regarded as their prized possessions, were reduced to rolling heads before they could even raise their swords.

Their hands, gripping the knives, began to tremble violently, the blades striking the bluestone slabs with a series of disordered clanging sounds.

Zheng Yaoming, standing at the back of the crowd, lost all color in his face in an instant, becoming even paler than the beheaded corpses.

The anger and arrogance from before were gone from his cloudy old eyes; only naked fear remained.

A Blood Refining Realm martial artist was a trump card he had acquired by spending a fortune and asking for countless favors.

That was the source of his confidence to challenge the Empress in the imperial court and to roar at five thousand soldiers at the gate of his mansion.

But these seemingly invincible experts were as fragile as paper lanterns in front of Zhou Ming, unable to even withstand a single sword strike.

He opened his mouth wide, but no sound came out; his upper and lower teeth chattered uncontrollably, making a soft clicking sound.

Zhou Ming withdrew his finger, and the silver sword light silently flew back to his side and entered the scabbard.

He sat upright on his horse, not a single drop of blood splattered on his old dark blue robe. He remained calm and composed, as if he hadn't been the one who had just killed someone.

Zhou Ming raised his hand to clear his throat. His voice was not loud, but it overwhelmed the deathly silence of the entire long street.

"The Zheng family, having received great favors from the nation, instead of repaying them, has acted wickedly and rebelliously. They have privately raised soldiers and nurtured assassins, harboring malicious intentions."

"They forcibly seized land and houses, oppressed the villagers, and caused widespread resentment."

"Colluding with bandits and harming innocent people is an unforgivable crime."

"Now they are secretly colluding with foreign invaders, plotting treason, and their ambition to carve out their own territory and declare themselves king is common knowledge. How can this be tolerated?"

Zhou Ming read very slowly, leaving enough pauses between each accusation for everyone present to process.

As he read the last sentence, his voice suddenly rose several decibels, carrying a resolute and sharp edge:

"Guards...seize the entire Zheng family and throw them into prison. They will be executed at a later date!"

The armored soldiers at the gate of Zheng's mansion were already terrified by Zhou Ming's sword strike, their hands trembling so much that they could barely grip the hilts of their swords.

Hearing Zhou Ming list one crime after another, they completely lost their last bit of courage to resist.

They were just servants who were paid to work, not assassins. There was no need for them to be buried with the Zheng family, who had already been sentenced to death.

The captain behind Zhou Ming was very perceptive. Seeing this, he stepped forward, took a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and roared at the still hesitant Zheng family soldiers:

"Surrender now! How long are you going to continue aiding and abetting evil?!"

His shout was so powerful it seemed to shake the mountains and rivers, the sound waves exploding across the long street.

Clang.

The first knife fell to the ground.

Then came the second game, the third game, and the tenth game.

The sounds of swords falling to the ground echoed repeatedly, particularly crisp on the deathly silent street.

The armored soldiers at the gate threw down their weapons, covered their heads, and squatted down against the wall, not daring to lift their heads.