As Fan Lang spoke, his towering fury spread outward, transforming into a biting gale that swept across heaven and earth. The snow on the ground was hurled into the air like silver dragons dancing wildly between heaven and earth, smashing the buildings and blowing the bandits off their feet.
This rage was powerful enough to kill. Many bandits could not withstand it and were scared to death on the spot, while the rest were not much better off.
How could these mortals endure a god's wrath?
The Little Stronghold Master, who had previously cared more about money than his life, was specifically targeted by Fan Lang. He was so terrified that his soul nearly left his body. The little knife in his hand fell to the ground, and then he collapsed after it.
Throughout the entire bandit stronghold, only Shan Jixiang remained completely unaffected and could move freely.
Seeing the chaos around him, he showed an anxious expression. He bent down to support the Little Stronghold Master beside him and repeatedly called out, "What's wrong? Are you all right?"
The Little Stronghold Master struggled to breathe, his face growing uglier and uglier. His features twisted horribly, and he soon died without Fan Lang needing to lift a finger.
When Shan Jixiang discovered that the man was dead, he became even more frantic. He laid the body down, then waved his hand and shouted, "God in the sky, please show mercy and stop killing people!"
"They're only a pack of bandits who murder and plunder. What's wrong with killing them? If you live by the sword, sooner or later you pay the price," Fan Lang sent down his will.
"They may be bandits, but they're still living people. Please spare their lives. After suffering such a calamity, I believe they'll turn