A figure was violently flung out, skimming over the heads of Second Young Master ThompsonWilliam Thompson and Little Thompson and the others, tracing a parabola before crashing hard into Thompson Manor, immediately followed by a loud, muffled boom.

Old Carter and the bandits had long since been stunned. They had completely misjudged WestonThe Thompson Family, failing to see that this family was full of hidden talents. Facing off head-on against two sorcerers, they were not at a disadvantage in the slightest, and even blasted one of them to pieces, leaving not a trace of the body.

If those two sorcerers hadn’t intervened halfway, today, if they’d tried to take down the people of The Thompson Family, they might have lost two or three hundred brothers in the process.

“Grandpa!”

The eldest son, Mark Thompson, rolled on the ground, his face smeared with tears and dirt, but there was nothing he could do. He could only watch helplessly as David Thompson was blasted away by the enemy’s magic.

To be thrown so far and hit so hard—let alone an ordinary person, even a sorcerer would hardly survive.

“Heh! Mortals are just mortals! Ugh! Damn it!”

The senior disciple from Zhaixing Pavilion strutted like a proud rooster, letting out an unrestrained laugh, but after only a couple of laughs, he abruptly stopped. Looking down, he saw a flying dagger embedded in his chest, driven in four or five inches deep, with only the tail end still visible.

“So it’s a remnant of the martial world!”

He could clearly feel his life force rapidly draining away. If not for the last dregs of his magical power sustaining him, he would have already collapsed.

Even so, this fatal wound had already set the Zhaixing Pavilion disciple’s life on an irreversible countdown.

“Grrrk!”

A strange sound came from deep in the sorcerer’s throat. He suddenly glared viciously at Mark Thompson, gritting his teeth as he said, “Good move, truly a good move! I admit I underestimated you mortal ants. But even if I die, I’ll make you taste the pain of losing your loved ones, so you’ll live forever in regret, wishing for death!”

He turned his gaze toward William Thompson and John Thompson not far away, mustered the last of his magical power, and sent his flying sword hurtling toward them.

“Xiaolang!”

Grace Walker heard the sorcerer’s words and immediately cried out in alarm. She wanted to rely on the protective jade pixiu she wore to shield John Thompson from the flying sword. Just as she was about to move, two strong arms pressed down on her shoulders and shoved her forcefully to the side, and a not particularly tall or burly figure stepped in front of her.

“Don’t be afraid!”

John Thompson shook his head at the falling Grace Walker, still resolutely turning his back to the oncoming flying sword, using his own body to protect the young lady before him—someone he’d only just met, who might one day become his wife.

To put it nicely, he was a bit of a chauvinist; to put it bluntly, John was just a bit foolish. He’d rather be stabbed to death by the flying sword himself than let a woman shield him.

The second time she heard Little Thompson say “Don’t be afraid” to her, tears welled up in Grace Walker’s eyes.

She could truly feel that sentiment—it was a man’s promise and responsibility to a woman.

“Xiaolang!”

“Xiaolang!”

Second brother William Thompson struggled on the ground. At this moment, he hated himself for being nothing but a bookworm—useless as a scholar.

If only he could wield martial arts like his father and elder brother, he could now protect Little and Miss Grace.

“Xiaolang!”

Mark Thompson cried out in pain once more. If he hadn’t gone wandering in search of immortals, he wouldn’t have met that temple master’s illegitimate daughter, wouldn’t have killed someone from a Daoist sect in a fit of rage, and wouldn’t have brought disaster back, causing the death of his father and brothers.

“Mortals, die! Hahaha!”

With the arrogance of a sorcerer, the Zhaixing Pavilion sorcerer let out a triumphant, ferocious laugh.

The sword light pierced through cloth, and at the very instant the blade was about to touch John Thompson’s back—

Crack!

It was as if something had split open, a sharp cracking sound echoing in John Thompson’s ears.

Without warning, all things in heaven and earth—birds, falling leaves, drifting dust, flowing water, even the sword light about to pierce a young body—suddenly froze for an instant. Then, a sword light of purest brilliance, as if from the dawn of creation, burst forth from within John Thompson.

The sorcerer’s flying sword was like a firefly rushing toward the sun, silently dissolved into nothingness, as if it had never existed.

The Zhaixing Pavilion sorcerer’s eyes widened in shock. That vast sword light, as brilliant as the sun and moon, not only devoured his flying sword but also shot toward him. He had no time to think, no time to act—he only felt the world suddenly blaze with light, and everything lost its color...

...

Chapter 9 Widow’s Calamity

Rumble rumble rumble...

A thunderous roar stretched from the west side of Weston all the way to the east. As the dust gradually settled, a shallow trench more than a zhang wide, of unknown length, extended out of the town for who knows how many li.

The street, houses, people, animals, plants, even the town wall three or four zhang high that had once stood there, along with the sorcerer, had all vanished without a trace.

The two snow cranes were gone as well. They hadn’t even had time to flap their wings and take flight—only a few snow-white feathers remained, drifting gently to the ground.