Upon hearing this, Zhou Ming's face remained devoid of any extra expression.

He couldn't even be bothered to say another word to this stubborn old man; he simply raised his hand and gave a gentle beckon to those behind him.

Hundreds of soldiers in black armor raised their spears in unison.

The spear tips formed a dazzling expanse of silver light in the sunlight as they stepped forward in unison toward the Zheng manor gates, the clanking of their armor ringing out in perfect rhythm.

However, at the very moment Zhou Ming raised his hand, Zheng Yaoming had already retreated rapidly.

Perhaps it was because he had also Cultivated the Dushi Sutra.

His movements were so fast that they didn't resemble those of a sixty-year-old man; with a flash, he retreated to the inner side of the gate.

Meanwhile, as if by magic, over a hundred fully armed armored soldiers surged out in front of the Zheng manor gate.

These men were all clad in refined iron armor, holding long blades, with burly figures and vigorous Qi and blood.

The aura of the few leaders among them was particularly astonishing; their Qi and blood surged like boiling water, and with every move they made, the bluestone slabs beneath their feet trembled slightly.

These were the Blood Refining Realm Martial Artists who had escaped from the Blood Pool prison; the Zheng family had no idea what means they had used to recruit them under their command.

At this moment, these people had clearly become the Zheng family's trump card.

Zhou Ming sat on his horse, looking at the group of armored soldiers before him whose Qi and blood were like a Dragon, a very faint and contemptuous smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

He did not draw his sword, did not form any seals, and did not even dismount.

He simply raised his right hand, pressed his index and middle fingers together, and tapped gently forward.

The imperial sword hanging by his saddle moved.

No one saw how it left its sheath; they only heard a clear and long sword hum.

A dazzling cold light burst from the scabbard, and the sword had already transformed into a streak of silver lightning, shooting out from beside the saddle.

The sword light traced a curve in mid-air that was smooth to the point of perfection, silently passing by the necks of several Blood Refining Realm Martial Artists.

Those few Blood Refining Realm Martial Artists hadn't even had time to react.

In their field of vision, they only saw the thin young man on horseback wave his hand nonchalantly, and then a blindingly bright and fast silver light filled their entire sight.

That light was too bright, so bright that they subconsciously wanted to close their eyes, but before their eyelids could even shut, they felt a chill on the back of their necks.

That was the last feeling of their lives.

Their consciousness plunged into eternal darkness in that instant, without even knowing that their heads had already left their necks.

Large heads soared into the sky, carrying spraying fountains of blood as they tumbled several times in mid-air, then slammed heavily onto the bluestone road surface, rolling a few times before coming to a stop.

Only at this moment did those headless bodies collapse with a boom.

Blood gurgled from the severed necks, flowing through the gaps between the armor plates and rapidly spreading into a dazzling crimson stain on the bluestone.

In an instant, the entire long street became terrifyingly quiet.

Dead silence; from one end of the street to the other, it became completely dead silent.

The wind stopped, the bird calls ceased, and even the last few withered leaves on the locust tree branches sensibly did not fall.

Everyone remained frozen in the same posture.

Mouths agape, eyes wide, pupils contracting sharply due to extreme terror.

Although the soldiers behind Zhou Ming had Cultivated the Dushi Sutra and were no longer strangers to Sorcerys.

A few people had even followed Zhou Ming to learn Sorcerys for a period of time.

But they had never seen Zhou Ming take action himself, nor did they know that this usually smiling Steward Zhou actually possessed such terrifying means.

It was not a Sorcery, nor was it a Martial Skill; they knew this very clearly in their hearts.

It was a power they completely could not understand.

With a wave of his hand, heads fell to the ground, and they hadn't even seen how the opponents died.

And the armored soldiers at the Zheng manor gate were so scared that they were Soul Flying Away and Spirit Scattering.

They knew better than anyone how terrifying those few Blood Refining Realm Martial Artists were.

They were experts capable of taking on a hundred on the battlefield, harvesting lives as easily as cutting melons and vegetables.

They were beings in whose presence they usually dared not even breathe loudly.

Yet just a moment ago, right under their very noses.

These Blood Refining Realm experts, treated by the Zheng family as their house-guarding treasures, hadn't even managed to raise their blades before they turned into heads rolling on the ground.

Their hands gripping their blades began to tremble violently, the tips of the blades clattering against the bluestone, making a chaotic tinkling sound.

Zheng Yaoming, behind the crowd, had the color drained completely from his face in an instant, even paler than the headless corpses.

In his cloudy old eyes, there was no longer any trace of the anger and arrogance from just moments ago, leaving only naked fear.

Blood Refining Realm Martial Artists—those were the trump cards he had spent a fortune and called in countless favors to recruit under his command.

They were the source of his confidence to challenge the Empress in the imperial court and to roar at five thousand troops at his manor gate.

Yet these experts, who in his eyes were arrogant and unyielding, were as fragile as paper lanterns before Zhou Ming, unable to block even a single sword strike.

He opened his mouth wide but could not make any sound; his upper and lower teeth uncontrollably knocked together, making a light chattering sound.

Zhou Ming withdrew his finger, and the silver sword light flew back silently to his side and entered the scabbard.

He sat upright on his horse, not a single drop of blood splashed on his old dark blue robe, still maintaining that calm and indifferent appearance, as if the person who had waved his hand to kill just now was not him.

Zhou Ming raised his hand and cleared his throat; his voice was not loud, but it suppressed the dead silence of the entire long street.

"The Zheng clan has received the nation's great grace, yet instead of thinking of repaying it, you act with violence and rebellion. You privately recruit armored soldiers, raise death squads, and harbor evil intentions."

"You forcibly occupy fields and houses, oppress the local people, and the public grievances are sky-high."

"You collude with mountain bandits, harm the innocent, and your crimes are unpardonable."

"Now you even secretly communicate with foreign enemies, plotting wrongdoing; your desire to split the land and proclaim yourself king is known to all passersby. If this can be tolerated, what cannot?"

Zhou Ming read extremely slowly, leaving enough pause between each charge for everyone present to digest it.

When reading the last sentence, his voice suddenly raised a few notches, carrying a decisive sharpness:

"Come here... seize the entire Zheng clan, throw them into prison, and execute them on an appointed day!"

The armored soldiers at the Zheng manor gate had already been scared out of their wits by Zhou Ming's sword strike, their hands trembling so much that they couldn't even grip their sword hilts steadily.

Now, hearing the list of crimes Zhou Ming enumerated, they completely lost the last bit of courage to resist.

They were just hired house guards earning money for food, not death squads; it was not worth being buried with the Zheng family, who had already been sentenced to death.

The colonel behind Zhou Ming was very perceptive; seeing this, he stepped forward, took a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and roared at the still-hesitating Zheng manor armored soldiers:

"Why haven't you surrendered your weapons yet! How much longer do you intend to assist the tyrant in his evil deeds!"

This shout was so powerful it seemed to swallow mountains and rivers, the sound waves exploding across the long street.

Clang.

The first blade fell to the ground.

Then the second, the third, the tenth.

The sound of blades hitting the ground rose one after another, sounding exceptionally crisp in the dead-silent long street.

The armored soldiers at the manor gate threw down their weapons one after another, squatted down by the wall while covering their heads, not even daring to raise their heads.