Before the words fell, the two words "Saint" had already crashed down like a heavy hammer. Everyone present turned to look, their gazes snapping in unison toward the purple-clad young man.
This man had long been renowned among the Demon Race beyond the domain. Had Immortal Official Nanji tried to persuade him gently earlier, he might still have harbored three parts hesitation; yet this attempt to use another's power to press him down instead made him straighten his spine, his proud bones ringing like steel—if he yielded now, would that not confirm him as a coward? How would he command all demons and rule the myriad tribes thereafter?
What the Demon Race revered was guts, what they feared was an iron hand. They had never acknowledged any soft-boned wretch as their Great King.
Only a moment ago, he had still been weighing the matter. In this instant, his resolve had become fixed as cast iron.
If Immortal Official Nanji had known that his warning had not only failed to frighten off a formidable foe, but had instead nailed his opponent firmly to this place, what would he have thought?
Naturally, he did not know.
The purple-haired young man threw back his head and laughed. His folding fan snapped shut with a smack, his voice shaking the wilderness. "Immortal Official Nanji, stop using a Saint's name to suppress me! I hold the lifeblood of ten thousand demons in my hands—how could a few words from you frighten me into retreat? If I truly backed down, who atop the demon mountains would still submit to me tomorrow?!"
He raised his head to meet every gaze, his eyes shooting toward Immortal Official Nanji like lightning. "I have long heard that you are the foremost disciple beneath Saint Primordial Beginning. I wonder how much