Zhan Yongjun had just stepped over the threshold when her neck was swept by a wind blade.
She stopped running and her muscles stiffened. She reached out with a trembling hand and slowly touched the circle of blood around her neck.
Zhan Yongjun's decapitated head fell unexpectedly from her neck, and her body collapsed to the ground with a loud thud. A large pool of blood gushed out from the wound, staining the ground crimson.
Then, another wind blade broke through the array formation on the ground. Shen Yaowei was about to retract her artifact spirit when she heard applause from outside the dilapidated temple.
The crisp sound of slapping was especially obvious in the silent night. Shen Yaowei's heart skipped a beat as she looked up at the person.
A large black fog attacked and instantly enveloped the entire dilapidated temple. The unique ruthless aura of the ghost race spread over, causing the string in Shen Yaowei's heart to immediately tighten.
