With the deafening crash of a shattering ornate wooden door, Qin Feng's figure shot through the rain of splinters like an arrow loosed from a bow. His dark gray suit billowed from the momentum, and the oak fragments scattered at his feet bore the scorch marks of Holy Power.
He held the Beheading Sword, its tip angled toward the floor. The soft scraping of the blade against its sheath was exceptionally clear in the villa's luxurious yet deathly silent living room.
Seeing this, John crushed the cigar between his fingers, its ashes falling onto a priceless Persian rug.
His previously relaxed posture instantly tensed. With a sweep of his right hand across the tabletop, the Oak Magic Staff leaped into his palm like a nimble snake. The sapphire embedded in its head suddenly erupted with a deep blue light, casting his angular face in flickering shadows.
"Who are you?!"
"What do you want?!"
