Elderly Martial Saint: Sixty Times the Cultivation Speed ​​at the Start

When Yi Yang landed, his toes shattered two pieces of green tile, and he had already leaped six or seven zhang from the roof of Fu Man Lou.

All five senses are activated.

Listen first.

The commotion in the direction of the Sky Patrol Division was not from one place, but from at least three places, with the sounds of clashing weapons rising and falling at varying intervals and in different intensities.

The northeast corner was the most oppressive, filled with the dull thud of metal clashing against metal, interspersed with shouts and the cracking sound of footsteps shattering the rubble, like a close-quarters brawl involving quite a few people.

The sound was sharper from due north, with the sizzling sound of blades cutting through armor plates and the buzzing vibrations of two streams of qi and blood colliding at high frequency, indicating that experts at least at the third level of qi and blood were fighting.

The western area was much more chaotic, with the clanging of metal mixed with cries and running footsteps, the rhythm scattered and disordered, like a defeated army being chased and hacked down.

The outbreaks occurred simultaneously in three locations.

It wasn't a lone wolf attack, nor was it a sneak attack or assassination; it was an organized and large-scale raid.

Without stopping, Yi Yang darted towards his courtyard, his figure pressed against the shadow of the rooftop. Halfway there, as he passed through a small alley, he first smelled the stench of blood.

The pungent smell, thick with the stench of rust and burnt metal, wafted from the other end of the alley. Yi Yang slowed his pace, crept forward about ten steps along the wall, and then the alley suddenly opened up.

At a crossroads, the battle was over.

Five corpses lay on the ground in various poses. Three of them were dressed in the standard black uniform of the Sky Patrol Division. The other two were bald and had tattered clothes with a burlap turban wrapped around their heads. A straw rope was tied around their waists, with a bloodstained dagger attached to the rope.

Mountain bandits.

Yi Yang narrowed his eyes, his gaze lingering on the arm of the bald corpse for a couple of breaths.

On the inside of my forearm, there is a brand. It is round with a curved snake pattern in the middle.

The symbol of the Nine Heretical Cults.

He had seen it countless times in the files he had flipped through in the archives before. Without pausing, Yi Yang squatted down and touched the clothes of the three Sky Patrol Division disciples.

The first one was a dozen or so taels.

The second pouch contained about twenty taels of silver and a few copper coins.

The third was a young patrolman; his body was still warm, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, his eyes rolled back. His inner shirt was bulging; Yi Yang reached in and pulled out a heavy cloth bag.

Upon opening it, they found loose silver and several silver notes, totaling around fifty taels. The three of them together had over a hundred taels.

Yi Yang weighed the silver in his hand and put it in his pocket. Just as he straightened up after putting away the silver, half of the sky in the southeast suddenly turned red.

It wasn't the fleeting red light of a signal arrow; it was fire.

A vast expanse of fire.

Flames shot up from the southeast of the Sky Patrol Office, turning the rooftops of half the street a deep red.

Immediately afterwards, the shouts of battle surged.

No longer a few scattered attacks, but a surging wave pushing outwards from the southeast. Dense clashes of swords, muffled punches and kicks, occasionally interspersed with a loud shout that drowned out all the noise.

If someone at least at the fourth level of Qi and Blood is making a move, then it must be the remaining forces of the Sky Patrol Division that have been mobilized.

Deputy Patrol Chief Qian Hu was at the fourth level of Qi and Blood, and he also had several patrol captains at the third level under his command. If they gathered all their fighting skills into one fist and smashed it down, no matter how many people the opponent had, they would have to take this hit.

Yi Yang did not head towards the battlefield. He continued walking along the dark alley towards the courtyard. He was not a loyal dog of the Sky Patrol Division and had no obligation to charge into battle for the organization. Moreover, his rank was not high, so it didn't matter if he didn't participate.

My life is my own; Jiang Yuexin and Yang Hui are the ones I should care about.

But before they had run two blocks, the sound from the direction of the battlefield changed.

The shouts of battle shifted from a concentrated focus to a dispersed one, erupting from one direction in all directions. Dense footsteps surged outwards, like a flood bursting its banks, pouring into every part of the town.

This was because the encirclement and suppression organized by the Sky Patrol Bureau failed, and the person escaped.

Yi Yang paused, then cursed.

The bandits and cult remnants who had broken through the siege scattered into the streets and alleys, turning the town into a battlefield. His small courtyard was located northwest of the Sky Patrol Headquarters, not overlapping with the breakout route. However, the chaotic soldiers moved without any order, and if a few foolish ones happened to run northwest—

He took a deep breath and increased his speed even further.

The ground beneath my feet was littered with broken tiles, and I rose and fell close to the rooftops. Scattered running and shouting sounds began to emerge from the surrounding alleyways.

Every house along the way was dark; the shops that had been lit with tiny oil lamps just moments before were now all extinguished.

The townspeople weren't fools. When the sounds of battle raged and flames lit up the sky, hiding indoors and playing dead was the only right choice.

Yi Yang climbed over a wall and landed in an empty courtyard, only two alleys away from the small courtyard.

Just as he was about to get up again, he heard a noise coming from the direction of the wall behind him.

puff.

Someone is using a VPN.

Not one.

The three sets of landing sounds were less than a breath apart. The first one was the heaviest, the sole of the boot hitting the blue bricks and sending debris flying; the second one was slightly lighter; the third one was steady and powerful, the feet landing together, carrying a layer of compressed blood and energy.

Yi Yang turned around.

Under the moonlight, three figures stood inside the wall.

On the far left is a burly man, his linen shirt soaked in blood, clutching a blood-stained broadsword.

The one on the right is thinner, with a gray cloth wrapped around his head, a straw rope belt, and two short daggers tucked into his waistband—a typical bandit outfit.

The one in the middle.

He was in his thirties, dressed in a black, close-fitting outfit, with a fair complexion and no beard. In his left hand, he held a narrow, long sword, from which blood was still dripping, drop by drop hitting the brick surface with a soft sound, but clearly audible in the night.

This man's aura was completely different from that of the bandits on either side of the mountain.

The breathing is long and even, with obvious chest resonance, and the frequency of blood and qi circulation is deep and restrained.

Qi and blood are in four stages.

Yi Yang's perception swept around and he quickly figured out the other party's background.

The other person was clearly also sizing him up.

The moonlight shone on Yi Yang, and although his old blue robe was on the outside, the hilt of the sword made by the Sky Patrol Division was partially exposed at his waist.

The man in black glanced at the hilt of the knife, his pupils contracted slightly, and then the corners of his mouth turned down.

"From the Sky Patrol Division."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a lingering ferocity from the act of killing.

The burly bandit next to him took half a step forward, his broadsword held horizontally in front of his chest, his voice so loud it could frighten a child: "Deacon Jiang, shall we make a move?"

The man in black, a deacon of the Nine Evil Cults—Jiang Liang didn't answer; he glanced at Yi Yang again.

With gray hair and a hunched back, he looked very old.

An old patrolman.

"Kill him."

Two words, spoken lightly, no different from ordering a subordinate to pour a pot of tea: "Leave no survivors."

The burly man grinned, thrusting his broadsword forward. Together with the skinny bandit with a turban on his right, the two men approached Yi Yang from the left and right.