Ding Xiang, left to face hundreds upon thousands of Snow Monsters alone on the far bank of the Nether River, was suffering unspeakably. Huge numbers of Snow Monsters formed from azure ice souls swarmed toward him, some even leaping down from above. They practically wrapped him into a ball.
Yet that was nothing. He moved with blinding speed, his palms flashing in and out like shadows. Nearly every strike shattered a Snow Monster. Though he had no time to crush their ice souls afterward, his late-stage Great Immortal cultivation still allowed him to barely cope. But ever since nearly a hundred red-eyed Snow Monsters had joined the siege, he had nearly been driven to tears.
These red-eyed Snow Monsters were no longer things he could smash apart with a single palm. The moment they exchanged blows, he discovered... the Snow Monsters with azure ice souls possessed only Nether Saint-level cultivation, but these red-eyed ones were all at the Nether Venerable level, not all that far beneath his own. At most, he could knock them back with a palm strike; if he struck hard enough, he could crack them. Yet after rolling once on the ground, they immediately returned to normal. They could not be injured, could not be killed—and there were so many of them!
Imagine nearly a hundred such Snow Monsters surrounding Ding Xiang and beating him as a group, while another thousand azure ice-soul Snow Monsters swarmed and piled onto him. What kind of ending would he face? Amid deafening roars, Ding Xiang was already in tattered clothes, covered in wounds, and at death's door. He regretted this beyond measure! Why had he let ghosts muddle his mind and followed those two fellows here?
In such a frenzied group beating, Ding Xiang could no longer be seen from