A huge, clearly defined palm-shaped depression instantly appeared in the ground where Kassava stood.
It was deeper than half an arm's length.
All the soil and rock within had been pulverized and compressed together so tightly that they had become harder than steel.
Kassava had not even waited for Meng Chao's Giant Spirit Palm to truly strike his skull.
The sheer pressure had already terrified him into a mental collapse. Ashen-faced, he dropped onto the ground on his backside, unable to get back up.
For a moment, the entire scene fell silent.
A moment later, merciless mockery and furious curses erupted from the depths of hundreds of Bloodhoof Warriors' chests like a volcanic eruption, converging into a surging torrent that engulfed Kassava in an instant.
When Meng Chao made his move, quite a few Bloodhoof Warriors had already sensed that Kassava was doomed to suffer a crushing defeat.
But as the saying went, Turan Orcs could lose, but they absolutely could not lose without any backbone.
Collapsing before an opponent's attack had even reached him—how was that any different from throwing down his helmet and armor and surrendering with both hands raised?
Quite a few Bloodhoof Warriors even turned around angrily, stuck out their butts at Kassava, and slapped their glutes hard, producing loud smacking sounds.
According to Turanze tradition, this was the highest level of contempt, reserved specifically for cowards who fled in defeat from the battlefield.
Basically, once one received such an insult from one's own people, it meant "social death." Both he and his descendants would be expelled from the Lineage and even the clan, branded as ratfolk, never to rise again.
Even Meng Chao was slightly taken aback.
He had not expected Kassava's bravado to be so hollow.
If Kassava had faced him in a fair