"Cough, cough, cough..."
Ye Chen coughed up mouthfuls of blood. The blood-red aura around him rapidly faded, and he became utterly listless, without even the strength to stand.
"It's over, Ye Chen."
Lin Tianlong advanced step by step, each stride carrying an overwhelming pressure.
Killing intent surged in his eyes as he looked down at Ye Chen, now a lamb awaiting slaughter, and coldly pronounced his sentence:
"In your next life, remember to keep your eyes open. Don't provoke the Dragon Gate again, and especially don't provoke me, Lin Tianlong!!"
Watching Lin Tianlong close in with boundless killing intent, feeling the life force within him draining away as swiftly as floodwaters through a broken dam, Ye Chen's blood-smeared face was filled with deep despair and unwillingness.
He was the mighty Hall Master of the Temple of the God of Slaughter, having dominated the Western Dark World for over a decade. How imposing and unrivaled had he once been?
Wherever he went, which heads of those small Western nations, political dignitaries, or wealthy magnates did not tremble before him, walking on eggshells for fear of angering this God of Slaughter?
Yet he had never imagined that, in the prime of his life, he would die so inexplicably at the hands of some unknown Old Scoundrel, in this shabby, filthy rented apartment!
And what made him most unable to die in peace was...
Before his death, he had failed to personally butcher that bastard Jiang Che. He had failed to avenge the humiliation of having his wife stolen and being cuckolded!
"It hurts! It hurts so much!!"
At that thought, Ye Chen's heart hurt so badly he could barely breathe. It felt as though an invisible hand had ruthlessly crushed it to a bloody pulp.
He was filled with towering hatred for