Someone harshly shoved Zhao Yunlan aside. The fierce wind, reeking with blood, blew into his eyes. He was unable to force them open. As a great clang rang out, everyone turned to look and saw that the mountain of an axe had been stopped in its descent by a thick blade three chi and three cun long. Below the axe, the Soul-Executing Emissary was like an ant holding up a behemoth. Fierce wind ripped at his sleeves, revealing slender, pale hands. There came a small crack as the Emissary twisted his wrist,
