Grace Miller was agile, but not suited for prolonged combat. Now that she had lost her weapon, she became a bit flustered, retreating three steps and barely managing to defend herself. Samuel Carter caught his breath, but didn’t rush to intervene. Instead, he watched them fight with a smile, picked up a handful of small stones, and played with them in his hand. Suddenly, he flicked one out, hitting a masked man who was about to launch a sneak attack right in the forehead.

He began to offer advice: “No, no, girl, you have no technique.”

His hand moved like lightning as he flicked another stone, striking someone’s huantiao acupoint. That person’s stance faltered, and he immediately lunged forward, landing right at Grace Miller’s feet. Instinctively, Grace Miller lifted her foot, a flash of light glinting from her embroidered shoe as a short dagger shot out, stabbing into the man’s throat. Samuel Carter commented leisurely, “Your stance is your foundation. If you move without roots, act without stability, how can you not slip up?”

Grace Miller was extremely clever. She bent at the waist to dodge a blade, swept out a leg to kick the opponent’s knee, and as he stumbled forward, Grace Miller seized his pulse point, snatched his long knife, and struck his baihui acupoint with her palm, sending him to meet the King of Hell.

Samuel Carter flicked out another stone, hitting someone’s jianjing acupoint on the side of their shoulder. That person was lunging forward, but after being struck, half his body went numb and he could no longer move, collapsing to the ground from sheer momentum. Grace Miller then heard that wretched beggar half-jokingly, half-seriously sigh, “No, no, your formation is scattered, and you’re still rushing in recklessly—really, you’re minding the head and not the tail.”

Upon hearing this, Grace Miller immediately executed a deft lotus step. The masked man charging at her, full of brute force, missed as she dodged, and instinctively tried to change his move with a sideways slash, but only exposed a vulnerability, which Grace Miller exploited to take down two more opponents.

Soon, the corpses on the ground were strewn about in a messy heap. The few remaining, realizing things were going badly, exchanged glances and began to retreat. Samuel Carter frowned, thinking these people were a real nuisance. Although he had agreed to escort that young man to the Zhao family at Taihu, he didn’t want to deal with these assassins along the way. If they escaped, there would surely be more trouble ahead.

He thought, these people ambush others, wipe out entire families, and still act so secretive—clearly not good people.

Suddenly, Grace Miller saw a blur as a figure flashed by. The man who had been sitting on the incense table floated like a willow catkin and suddenly landed at the temple entrance. The leading black-clad man was caught off guard and tried to shoulder him aside, but with a “crack,” his entire shoulder was dislocated. Samuel Carter grabbed his neck and, with just his fingers, twisted it until it broke, then used his toe to pick up a knife lying nearby.

A ghostly, sinister smile appeared on his sallow face—

Grace Miller felt she hadn’t even had time to react before all the masked men rushing for the door had become corpses. She couldn’t help but blink in surprise—she had thought, judging by his speech and manner, that he was from one of those big, boastful sects, but she hadn’t expected him to be so swift and ruthless in killing. She was now unsure what kind of person he really was.

Samuel Carter, however, didn’t look as imposing as she had imagined. His legs were still weak, and after landing, he hadn’t stopped moving. Now that the killing was done and he paused, he could barely stand. Not wanting Grace Miller to notice, he staggered back a few steps, appearing graceful, but in reality just desperately searching for something to lean on.

Suddenly, a pair of hands reached out from behind and steadily supported him. Samuel Carter shivered, not knowing when this person had approached, and his hair stood on end. Fortunately, the person only helped him up and did nothing else.

Grace Miller’s eyes lit up and she called out, “Master!”

Only then did Samuel Carter breathe a little easier. After steadying himself, he turned around. The one who had helped him was the gray-clad man from the restaurant. Up close, he looked to be no more than twenty-eight or twenty-nine, with rather handsome features, but his eyes, when staring straight at someone, always made people uncomfortable.

At that moment, he was staring at Samuel Carter, his gaze seeming to pierce right through Samuel Carter’s skin—utterly brazen and rude.

Samuel Carter gave a dry cough and said, “Thank you, sir…”

“Wen, Wen Kexing,” the gray-clad man replied, his face showing a hint of puzzlement as his gaze fell on Samuel Carter’s neck and hands, the confusion deepening.

Though he didn’t know what the man was looking at, Samuel Carter remained calm. He knew his own skills well—if someone could easily see through him, he’d have lost his head ten years ago. So he replied calmly, “Oh, thank you, Brother Wen.”

The gray-clad man stared for a long time, but it was unclear what he was looking for. After a while, he finally looked away, nodded, and said, “No need.”

With that, he swaggered into the dilapidated temple. Grace Miller had already quickly kicked the corpses aside and used straw to make a clean spot for him to sit. Then William Walker glanced at Samuel Carter again, as if it wasn’t enough, and even explained, “I didn’t mean to.”

Samuel Carter then understood where Grace Miller’s disagreeable attitude came from—it was clearly learned from her master. He went to sit by himself to regulate his breathing.