At this critical, sword-drawn moment, when everyone's hearts were in their throats.
A soft chuckle suddenly shattered the suffocatingly tense atmosphere.
"Heh..."
The laugh was quiet, carrying a trace of helplessness, a trace of mockery, and the boredom of someone watching a farce.
Everyone, including Bibi Dong, instinctively turned toward the source of the laughter.
Han Yuchen slowly walked out from behind Tang San.
He was not walking quickly; his steps even seemed somewhat lazy.
He first shook his head at Dai Mubai, whose face was full of anxiety as he tried to stop him. Then he gently moved Ma Hongjun aside and, under countless gazes filled with shock, confusion, or surging killing intent, walked to Tang San's side and stood shoulder to shoulder with him.
He faced the murderous Pope Bibi Dong, the watchful Chrysanthemum and Ghost Douluo, the dozens of Soul Sages and Soul Douluo surrounding them, and the thousands of elite Spirit Hall palace guards.
Yet there was not a trace of fear on his face.
He even wore that signature, punchable, scheming smile, as though everything were under control.
Only now, beneath that smile, there was an added chill.
He stepped beside Tang San, reached out, and gently patted him on the shoulder.
A warm yet resilient stream of Soul Power flowed into Tang San, helping him bear part of the mountain-like pressure.
Tang San's body relaxed. Though the pressure remained immense, he could at least catch his breath.
Then Han Yuchen raised his head, his gaze calm and even faintly amused as he looked directly into Bibi Dong's eyes, filled with killing intent and greed.
"Your Holiness."
Han Yuchen's voice was light and mild, like casual conversation between friends. Yet in the pin-drop silence of the plaza, every person heard him clearly.
His tone held