The Main Soul furrowed his brow slightly.
The measures he had left on Meng Zhi had indeed been triggered, but he had not expected Lord Feilai to make the first move.
Before he could speak, Lord Feilai had already completely sealed off the void before them.
The cultivator in the bamboo hat spoke. "What formidable methods, Fellow Daoist. To think you could leave a Venerable's power upon a junior."
"If you are allowed to live, would not all our juniors be slaughtered by your disciple? Forget the opportunity of that Dao Body—even their lives would be hard to preserve!"
"What?"
The old woman was immensely surprised.
The green-robed, saber-bearing burly man was much the same.
In truth, all of them had given their juniors, more or less, methods for preserving their lives and killing others.
Yet from what Lord Feilai meant, this man's Dao techniques were especially formidable.
At once, even the scholar and the great demon turned their gazes over.
The strong naturally drew the attention of others, especially when great opportunities and life-or-death stakes were at hand.
The Main Soul looked indifferently at the bamboo-hatted cultivator and said calmly, "Life, death, and opportunities are each governed by fate; they cannot be forced. If you all insist on this, I do not mind seeing you off."
His fist intent was like a waterfall flowing upstream, like a toppled mountain.
It erupted with a thunderous boom, shaking apart the void that had already been sealed.
The bamboo-hatted cultivator removed the hat from his head, revealing a handsome face.
His nose was like a hanging gallbladder and his eyes like stars. A faint sneer rested upon his thin lips. "A decayed body riddled with disease—no matter how powerful your fist intent is, how can you wield it? Your days are numbered,