The four beside him either held bamboo slips and recited silently, or closed their eyes in concentration. Their demeanor was solemn, still as deep pools and lofty as mountains—each bore the bearing of a grandmaster of the age.
Seeing this, the demon general's back tightened. Daring not to slight them, he stepped forward and shouted harshly, "Who are you people? How dare you block the path to heaven of the Demon Realm's Devil Master? Tired of living?"
The moment his words fell, four sharp gazes pierced toward him like swords, straight through to his marrow. His entire body stiffened, his hairs stood on end, cold sweat beaded at the nape of his neck, and his feet seemed rooted to the ground. He did not dare move an inch.
At his side, Mencius did not even raise his eyelids, merely snorting through his nose, his voice like an ice blade leaving its sheath:
"What are you supposed to be? You think you're worthy of making noise here?"
"Do you know what place this is? Do you think it can tolerate fiends like you taking even one step inside?"
"Get lost! Tell your Devil Master to come himself! Sending a dog here and thinking it can bark its way through the gates of sages and worthies!"
Before the words fell, the iron ruler in his hand had already swept out on the wind!
The demon general instinctively tried to block it, but his limbs felt burdened by a thousand jun. The demonic breath in his dantian was firmly suppressed by an invisible great power; of his full strength, he could not raise even half a percent. He helplessly watched the iron ruler close in, his throat tightening. He was even a moment too late to shut his eyes.
Bang!
A muffled sound