Do You Really Think I'm Your Disciple?

Although this monk had revived several times in succession, his aura growing stronger each time, and had even regained normal intelligence this time instead of mindlessly targeting Maitreya alone,

Still.

Neither Maitreya nor Wang Ye was inexperienced. Both were infamous, scheming old bastards.

They fought dirty as hell.

In barely three minutes, he, whose strength surpassed Wang Ye and Maitreya's by a notch, was beaten until he vomited blood and flew backward, his face pale.

"You."

"Damn you!!"

The monk's expression turned exceedingly ugly. Having been led astray by Wang Ye, he had even lost that tone where every sentence held some Zen mystery.

His originally handsome face now looked exceptionally twisted and ferocious.

As his words fell, the bronze Buddha statue floating in the void shot down, bit through the skin on the monk's chest, and burrowed into his heart.

The monk's face turned even paler, but soon regained its color.

His aura

grew stronger once again.

"After we kill him this time, he probably won't have the means to revive anymore."

"His blood energy is nearly depleted."

After scrutinizing him for a while, Wang Ye smiled. "Master, show us some real skills. You've been hiding your abilities for so long—it isn't much fun."

Maitreya gave Wang Ye a strange look. "Take out that blade first, then talk."

The atmosphere became somewhat awkward.

Wang Ye silently drew his Ghost Messenger Blade. Maitreya took a deep breath, and his Buddha Image appeared behind him before merging into his body. His aura surged dramatically, and from afar, he did not seem much weaker than the monk.

The monk's expression was exceptionally ugly.

These two were each more troublesome than the last.

He would most likely die here today, but how exactly had they exposed his location?

He could not understand it.