"We're dealing with a heavenly disaster. What do you mean, an immortal treasure has descended? Have your cultivation techniques turned your brains to mush?" I answered furiously. Without even thinking, the sword beam stabbed toward the other party, but perhaps because of the distance—or some kind of illusion—it caused Qiuniu to veer off and miss. The other party's voice came through again.
"Hehe, I hit the nail on the head, didn't I? This world doesn't belong to you alone. Even ants can kill a man when there are enough of them. Taking in an immortal treasure isn't easy. Why don't we pool our strength and seize it together? Afterward, everyone can rely on their own abilities—or perhaps we can all take a share. That would be more in keeping with your style as a grandmaster, wouldn't it?" the clown continued.
"Xia Yitian! Don't think your Nine-Yang Realm is all-powerful. There are still experts like the Ancestor Elders holding down the fort in this world! With you throwing your weight around like this, aren't you afraid of every Nine-Yang Realm cultivator under heaven becoming your enemy?" The rough voice belonged to someone else. He seemed to be backing up the sharp voice from earlier, provoking a group assault.
I rode the Swift-Traveling Ghost to Zhao Qian's side, only to find her face deathly pale. The backlash she had suffered was clearly severe. That was understandable, after all—fighting a god was no easy task.
Zhao Qian also knew how troublesome the group above was, so she said amid her frantic efforts, "I'm fine, Brother Tian. Get the immortal cultivators above to leave first, or this will never end. But be careful not to kill them. They're either reclusive cultivators or disciples of minor immortal sects. Provoking them would be a huge nuisance.