The shadow of death washed over them like a tangible tide, drowning everyone in its wake.

The golden puppet's blood-red eyes held not a shred of emotion, only the purest, most primal lust for slaughter. Its raised greatsword was like a blade of judgment, poised to grind these insignificant lives to dust in the next instant.

"F-Form... the Qingyun Sword Formation!"

Qin Jue's lips were dry and pale, yet he still managed to issue a final command as the head disciple. His voice trembled with fear, but it held an even greater measure of the tragic resolve of a leader who refused to give up.