Once it succeeded, it would be like embers beneath wildfire ashes, able to flare back to life at any moment.
Taiyi clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening as fighting spirit suddenly surged in his eyes:
"Hmph! Rest assured, Big Brother—if Kunpeng truly dares to come, I'll make him taste the fate of a traitor brought to justice!
Our cultivation has only just reached initial perfection, and I've been wanting to find a tough bone to gnaw on, to test the abilities I've newly forged!"
Worthy indeed of the Eastern Emperor who commanded the Demon Race.
He knew full well that he was currently only at the late Quasi-Saint stage, still a hair's breadth away from perfection;
while if Kunpeng had truly stepped into the Sub-Saint realm, then the gap between them would be a chasm as vast as heaven itself.
With such a disparity in combat strength, he would inevitably be at a disadvantage, restrained at every turn.
Yet Taiyi's heart held not the slightest trace of fear.
Before his words had even faded, his fighting spirit had already swept forth like a raging prairie fire—
Kunpeng's name had never cowed him, nor had the passage of hundreds of thousands of years worn away his edge.
He was still that Eastern Emperor of the Demon Race who looked down upon the eight directions, fearing nothing and no one, and under heaven and earth, there was still no person or thing capable of making him bow his head or bend his waist.
Even if several legendary Heavenly Dao Saints came in person, he would regard them only as opponents, not gods.
Better to spill his blood across the heavens than kneel to survive;
better to fall and see his Dao extinguished than wag his tail and beg for mercy.
This was