Witch Rong stepped forward and bowed. "I am the one."
Everyone was startled.
The civil and military Heavenly Officials, who had stood motionless like clay statues, all turned their gazes toward him.
They had long heard that a Saint Realm cultivator had ridden in a Dao Lord's dragon carriage, causing quite a stir.
Only now did they clearly see Witch Rong's appearance.
Sure enough, he was dignified and striking, tall and handsome, every inch a heroic figure.
Not only did the Heavenly Officials seated high in their pavilions, lounging half-reclined, cast sidelong glances at him—even the four Dao Lords not far from Witch Rong could not help looking over.
For the Eastern Peak King to summon him by name, could this man possess some great background? Back then, even that genius of the Celestial Race had not received such treatment.
High above the mystic vault of heaven.
Behind thirty-six beaded curtains, the Eastern Peak King, who overlooked all living beings, withdrew his gaze.
It swept toward the Dao Lords at the front.
The Dao Lord clasped his hands. "Dragonfolk, Dragonfolk Blackflame, pays respects to Your Majesty."
Only after the Dragonfolk Dao Lord spoke did it become the turn of the Dao Lord on the right, whose prominent brow ridges were as sharp as blades. He clasped his hands in salute. "Yero Tribe, Jilo Haichuan, pays respects to Your Majesty."
"Nether Race, Fierce Yama, pays respects to Your Majesty."
"Horned Devil Race, Mo Wanli, pays respects to Your Majesty."
The four Dao Lords paid their respects one by one, their etiquette impeccable—far more presentable than Witch Rong's "I am the one."
It would have been a lie to say he did not care. Though Witch Rong had received his sect's recognition, he had never been steeped in its accumulated traditions, so