Bad news always came with wings.
Looking at Gan Qianyun, an old acquaintance whose flesh had twisted out of shape and who still carried the scent of fireworks, Lu PingAn could not help but sigh.
Back when they had participated in Tyrannical Three-Faced's martial tournament, this man had been a chief Master of Ceremonies capable of holding his own, a major figure in Lu PingAn's eyes.
Now, this eighth-rank High Priest seemed as weak as a corpse, yet he still forced himself to maintain the posture of saluting Lu PingAn. Lu Mouren could only marvel at how things had changed.
"What did Tyrannical Three-Faced say?"
"He lost. He accepted it."
Lu PingAn laughed soundlessly at that. It really was an answer befitting the Martial God's style.
But for the participants under his command, it might not be good news.
His defeat had been unexpected, yet reasonable.
After all, a tall tree caught the wind. He had expanded too quickly, was an outsider, an aggressive and battle-loving Martial God, and individually powerful to an absurd degree. Once those "advantages" became his greatest threats, it was only natural that he had been ganged up on and forced out.
"Three divine factions on the same level as My Lord, all of them old-established ones. During the war, we could not even see the end of their military forces."
That was undoubtedly bad news. The gods of this world might already have reached a consensus to eliminate foreign competitors first.
"Is he still alive?"
"He is." That undoubtedly meant that although Tyrannical Three-Faced had been severely wounded, he had not died.
Then he should still be able to cross the stars and return to his homeland.
But some things could no longer return.
"You were left behind?"
"Some of us chose this willingly. Some