The group consisted of ten people, rain dripping off their straw raincoats.
Though they wore raincoats and conical hats, they didn't resemble the fishing elders in books; rather, nine out of ten were imposing figures with murderous intent.
The temple was already small, and the presence of ten people made it crowded, forcing their horses to stay outside.
The person at the front, with a broad knife on his waist, took two steps forward, crouched by the fire, first glanced at the buns roasting over the flame, then looked at Nezha on the ground, grinning, the scar running from his forehead across his nose to his mouth slightly twitching.
The man said, "Kid, who are you, and where are your guardians?"
Since they entered, Nezha had observed each of them, and if they weren't hiding their cultivation, their spiritual presence was strong but limited compared to ordinary folk.
What slightly disgusted him was the strong scent of blood emanating from these people.
