Just as the alliance assembly was about to disperse, a sudden change erupted.
The crowd in the southeast corner of the Training Ground abruptly parted to the sides, as if an invisible force was shoving those people aside by sheer force.
A figure walked slowly out from the mountain path entrance at the rear of the crowd, the chilling Baleful Intent roiling around his entire body like ink.
Wherever he passed, a layer of pitch-black frost blossoms congealed upon the blue stone slabs beneath his feet.
The disciples watching from both sides were forced back step by step by that wave of Baleful Intent, some turning pale on the spot with their lips purple.
That man was around fifty years of age, thin and tall, wearing a dark robe embroidered with obscure patterns whose hem fluttered without wind.
He had a narrow, elongated face with prominent cheekbones, a pair of triangular eyes narrowed slightly, and a trace of a cold, sinister smile hanging at the corners of his mouth.
This man did not walk particularly fast, yet with every step he landed, the surrounding air congealed into a circle of black lines visible to the naked eye, resembling ripples spreading out after a stone struck the surface of water.
Only that these ripples were black, freezing, and carried a corrosive aura.
"Ancestor Yinsha of Nether Province."
Ji Mie Arhat leaned on his bamboo staff as he stood behind the main seat, the layer of detachment on his withered, emaciated face completely sinking away.
"This old monk felt something was amiss on the road just now, always sensing that someone was following us."
"So it was you."
Ancestor Yinsha tilted his head to glance at Ji Mie Arhat, a cold, sinister glint flashing within his triangular eyes: "Old bald donkey Ji