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Between the floors.
The moment Ye Xuan rushed out, he was tightly surrounded by over a dozen middle-aged men.
Among them, there was a thin middle-aged man who drew a longsword, its sharp point aimed straight at Ye Xuan, with its cold edge inspiring a sense of fear.
Another middle-aged man, obese, smirked sinisterly and took out a Meteor Hammer.
That Meteor Hammer, though only the size of a fist, projected an intimidating presence that sent chills down one's spine.
The other men also held weapons.
Short daggers, their blades sharp enough to cut through gold and stone. Embroidered needles, their tips cold and sharp, unbearable to look at directly.
These various weapons gave Ye Xuan a sense of broadening horizons.
"You all must really have a lot of leisure time, even bringing household embroidery needles to a fight."
Ye Xuan laughed contemptuously, his eyes full of disdain, mocking the middle-aged men without reservation.
"Courting death."
