Recommendation Tickets, please.
Please read to the last page.
Nearly a thousand meters above the battlefield, two figures hovered quietly in the air.
They kept a detached distance from the battlefield below, where blood and flesh flew and soul light exploded across the Bao Residence and the surrounding mountain forests.
On the left was Zuo Tinggang. The sword eyebrows on his square face were locked tight, forming a deep furrow.
His sharp gaze swept over the killing field that covered an irregular ten-li stretch outside the city. "I didn't expect this little manor to draw in so many big fish today."
The man beside him had black hair untouched by frost, tied back casually. His face looked only around fifty, and he wore plain cloth clothes, his temperament mild as a kindly uncle from next door.
Only the occasional flash of keen light in his eyes reminded people of the connection he shared with the former grand manager of the Soul Arena, Chen Weining—this was his own brother, Chen Weizhe.
When Chen Weizhe heard him, he couldn't help sucking at his teeth. That neighborly old-uncle face carried a clear, amused cheer. "I say, Old Zuo, don't get too fierce here. Careful the net fails to hold the big fish and gets torn to shreds instead. Just look at the commotion down there. Something's off."
With that reminder, Zuo Tinggang's gaze sank as he continued looking downward. "It makes sense that there are more elites from the Dark Nether Guard, but four Titled Douluo, plus more than ten Soul Douluo-level combatants, all popping out at once and squeezing into this one place... it really is abnormal."
"No kidding!" The corner of Chen Weizhe's mouth lifted in a faint, almost imperceptible curve. "A large stronghold of the Scarlet Legion would have