Before anyone could even comprehend what had transpired, Jared stood among the chaos, Dragonslayer Sword in hand, its blade still dripping with fresh blood.
Gasp!
Every disciple of Pathfinder Sect drew in a sharp breath, their initial frustration now replaced by utter astonishment.
Just moments ago, they were irate because Jared looked down on them, but now, they stood in awe. Witnessing a Third Level Tribulator dispatch a Fourth Level Tribulator with such precision and speed left them speechless.
Even for a Fifth Level Tribulator, such a feat would be impressive, but Jared had accomplished it effortlessly.
Dillon, too, was profoundly astonished. He had underestimated Jared’s strength; he couldn’t fathom achieving such a feat himself.
One-Eyed stared at his fallen comrade, flabbergasted.
“Brat! You’ll pay for this with your life!” he bellowed, his voice reverberating with fury as he lunged toward Jared with a scimitar encased in a sinister black aura.
“I won’t let you harm Mr. Chance!” In response, Dillon surged forward, his determination fueled by Jared’s astounding display of strength moments earlier.
As Dillon clashed with One-Eyed in a fierce struggle, the remaining dozen Demonic Cultivators surged toward Jared.
“Nine Shadows!” Jared’s voice thundered as he wielded the Dragonslayer Sword. With each stroke, one figure after another materialized until there were seven identical versions of himself, each adorned in gleaming golden armor and brandishing a Dragonslayer Sword. Their eyes blazed with an unmistakable murderous intent as they faced down the Demonic ‘Cultivators.
The sudden appearance of multiple identical Jareds left the dozen or so Demonic Cultivators utterly dumbfounded.
Their shock was mirrored by the disciples of Pathfinder Sect and the other cultivators aboard the airship, who watched in awe.
They were puzzled, wondering what manner of technique was Jared employing, how had he multiplied himself so suddenly, and which figure was the real deal.
“Don’t panic! It’s merely an illusion spell! It’s all fake! Just continue your attacks!” One-Eyed roared, rallying his underlings when he noticed their confusion.
He was confident Jared had used some sort of illusion to confuse everyone.
With renewed determination, the Demonic Cultivators launched their assault once more, their mystical weapons slicing through the air in a synchronized barrage aimed at the illusionary Jareds.
Jared soared into the air, Dragonslayer Sword gleaming in his grasp.
Instantly, the attention of the Demonic Cultivators converged on him. They recognized him as the genuine threat amidst the illusions, focusing their assault on the real Jared with a determined intensity.
That was exactly what Jared wanted. The Demonic Cultivators leaped into the air, charging straight toward Jared, completely ignoring the duplicate bodies of Jared below.
As the Demonic Cultivators closed in on him, they were caught off guard by an unexpected chill creeping up from behind.
Initially assuming it was the disciples of Pathfinder Sect making their move, they turned to find, to their astonishment, the Jared clones that they had overlooked charging toward them with Dragonslayer Swords in hand.
The Demonic Cultivators stood frozen in shock, their faces pale as they witnessed six or seven of their comrades swiftly cut down, halving their force in an instant.
“What is going on?”
“D*mn! His shadow clones can kill, too?”
“These clones aren’t just illusions! They each have their own distinct auras!”
“That’s terrifying! Is this brat really a Third Level Tribulator?”
The spectators, including the disciples from Pathfinder Sect and the passengers on the airship, were equally stunned, their eyes wide with disbelief.
One-Eyed, engrossed in his battle with Dillon, hadn’t noticed the unfolding chaos until he casually glanced over. His expression morphed into dumbfounded disbelief as he beheld the scene before him.
Just moments earlier, his underlings were spiritedly engaged in combat, but now, half of them lay lifeless.
He struggled to comprehend how Jared had managed to accomplish that.
In that fleeting moment of One-Eyed’s disbelief, Dillon seized the opportunity with precision. With a swift strike aimed at One-Eyed’s chest, he sent him hurtling a considerable distance away.
