Yang Fan smiled helplessly. Whether they are twelve Holy Envoys or thirteen bastards, based on what these bastards just said, these twelve people must be killed.
"Could you not court death?"
Just as he finished speaking, the people from Chimu Peak had already rushed over.
Duan Wushuang pushed him away, urging him to leave quickly, while he stayed with the remaining five, facing off against the twelve Holy Envoys of Chimu Peak head-on.
Yang Fan realized it was too late to stop them. Six against twelve, and in a situation where their strength was insufficient, the result was predictable.
Not long after, the six were defeated; with Chimu Peak's people stepping on Duan Wushuang's chest, the others were already captured alive.
"Duan, if you're seeking death, then I'll fulfill your wish." Holding the sword in his hand, the man swung it down.
Duan Wushuang didn't mind dying, but if something happened to Yang Fan, what would he tell his deceased father?
