Whoosh!
A snow-bright sword aura flashed through midair like a blooming silver flower, enveloping the entire bug race suicide squad.
The sword aura was incomparably sharp and unstoppable. Every member of the bug race suicide squad was cut down without a single survivor. They could not even touch the corner of Fan Lang's clothes; they were simply no match for him.
Some bug race creatures had unusual bodies and exploded immediately upon death like heavy bombs. Others spewed poisonous mist afterward, turning it into lethal miasma.
Fan Lang flashed forward and passed straight through them, utterly unafraid of any explosions or toxic barriers.
In no time, he had drawn close to the bug race army.
The bug race army moved again, dispatching a large force of bugs skilled in close combat. Each was huge and covered in thick, sturdy shells, with bizarre claws that came in all shapes and forms. Some resembled swords and blades, some spears and lances, while others could be flung out like chains.
These were the bug race's elite, each at least as strong as a Lower God. Their leaders even possessed strength comparable to Upper Gods. They were well-trained and had cultivated combat techniques unique to the bug race, whose subtleties were no less impressive than human martial arts.
Tens of thousands of bug race warriors charged at Fan Lang, their mouthparts making strange noises like the battle cries of humans, grating horribly on the ears.
Fan Lang descended with the two great tribulations and charged into the enemy formation, beginning another round of slaughter.
With a blade and sword in hand, he spun with the momentum. As he flapped the embryonic form of the Supreme Wing, the weapons in his hands slashed again and again. In an instant, no one knew how many strikes