The Lion Race Lord, an eighth-stage Great Sage and a Demon Clan titan whose stomp could shake an entire region of Suspended Mountain, was swatted to death by Fang Qing as casually as if he were crushing a fly.
He did not even put up a proper resistance. He had not even finished screaming before his soul scattered and vanished!
Such absolute suppression, such terrifying strength that treated high-stage Great Sages like ants, completely stunned everyone present.
The three clan chiefs of the Horse Race, Leopard Race, and Rhinoceros Race had faces as pale as paper and bodies as stiff as stone. Frozen in the middle of attacking, they could neither advance nor retreat, cold sweat instantly soaking their backs.
When they looked at Fang Qing, there was nothing left in their eyes but boundless terror. Not a trace remained of their previous greed or savagery.
Even the Old Antiques seated deep within the high platform, their auras as unfathomable as abyssal seas, fell silent, their expressions incomparably complicated.
They could sense that the level of power contained in Fang Qing's slap had already surpassed the limits of their comprehension.
After their initial shock, Sick Old Man, Whale Zhengang, and the others from the Saint Mother faction were filled with indescribable excitement, along with a measure of awe.
The stronger Fang Qing was, the more beneficial it was to them. But it also meant that the future of this "outside help" was likely no longer something Suspended Mountain could restrain.
Fang Qing withdrew his hand and calmly swept his gaze over the trembling crowd. Finally, he glanced indifferently at the Lion Race chief's corpse on the ground before turning away, no longer paying it any mind.
"Let's go."
He spoke to Yang Qi, Sick Old Man, and the others in