Luo Hou was still seven or eight light-years away from the small satellite where Qin Yi had stopped. With the vastness above and below, precise positioning was basically impossible, and he had even carved out a small pocket plane of his own, making him even harder to find.
There were subordinates within the plane, and even a palace had been built there, lavishly luxurious.
Luo Hou sat upon his throne, silently tending his wounds. Looking at the somewhat desolate palace, his eyes brimmed with hatred.
Calling it desolate was not entirely accurate. He still had quite a few subordinates, but unfortunately, there were no true experts among them.
After Liusu and Yao Guang had wiped out his forces back then, Luo Hou had yet to raise up a new batch of followers. Though he possessed the ability to forcibly elevate others' cultivation, he could not use it on a large scale. It consumed his own energy—how could he mass-produce Taiqing cultivators?
Even now, he had only forcibly raised two Early Taiqing cultivators. The rest were basically Wuxiang. He selected the six strongest among them, bundled them together with the two Taiqing cultivators, and forcibly cobbled together an "Eight Legions of the Heavenly Dragon," still dreaming that one day they would flourish again and sweep across the Myriad Realms.
The dream was beautiful, but at this moment it was truly no more than a skeleton. The great army he imagined still existed only within his grand designs.
And Luo Hou himself was wounded now. He could not recover anytime soon.
Tracing some matters back to their roots, all one could say was that timing and fate had decreed it. How could he not have wanted to first nurture a mighty force before attacking the gate? Yet he also knew that Liusu