Jared chuckled and said to the clan leader, "If all your people die, those pouches will end up mine whether I lift a finger or not. Do you imagine your corpses could stop me?"
The clan leader froze, speechless; if every last clansman perished, their possessions would indeed belong to whoever survived, Jared had no incentive at all to help.
"Help us if you will, forget it if you won't, we're not afraid of death!" a young man in a white robe snapped, glaring at Jared with clear displeasure.
He stood among the chosen youths, and despite his young age, his cultivation level was already at the Wandering Immortal Realm Level Eight-an exceptional talent by any measure.
Jared swept his gaze across the group, every one of them belonged to the younger generation, prodigies brimming with monstrous potential.
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