Storms were not frightening. What was frightening was compressing a storm.
The Black Tribe pursuers were incredibly formidable; ordinary storms and hurricanes could not harm them. Bai Yujun had considered this, so she had spent several days desperately compressing the storm again and again, until she finally squeezed it into a ball. Throwing it down had produced excellent results.
A certain flood dragon stood high in the bitterly cold, sun-dazzled sky, admiring her masterpiece.
The desert below boiled, churning like a cauldron, and who knew how many tons of Yellow Sand were flung into the sky.
"This wind has been blowing for days. It's time for it to stop."
She withdrew her control over the storm. Without Bai Yujun, the white flood dragon, directing it, the tempest gradually subsided. Sand and dust slowly fell, and the Dragon Gate Desert, battered by sandstorms for days, finally quieted down.
But Bai Yujun's infrared heat vision detected something on the ground growing hotter and hotter...
"That old bastard isn't dead yet? Is he using Black Tribe Evil Arts?"
The hurricane rose again. The storm that had just settled began once more to whirl sand and dust through the air. This was a fight to the death, not a Martial Arts Competition. No matter what, she had to use every last ounce of strength to kill her opponent. Bai Yujun did not believe that the gravely wounded old Black Tribe priest could raise much of a storm. Surviving just now had been his good fortune; this time, he would not be so lucky.
On the ground, the old Black Tribe priest struggled to his feet, covered in wounds. The garments that marked his status were in tatters. Many patches of hair had been ripped from his nearly bald head, leaving bloody spots behind. The