Jiang Ping An knew he could not kill anyone inside the Holy Land.
The arena was surrounded by powerful figures. Killing Zhuo Shan here was impossible.
But within the rules, he could still teach Zhuo Shan a lesson and make him pay a price.
The fight in the arena was a good opportunity.
Jiang Ping An walked to the edge of the arena and joined the spectators. He folded his arms, putting on an arrogant air.
"You call this a fight? What a load of crap. It's no different from watching stupid pigs brawl. Especially that scale-covered fellow—his fighting technique is a pile of shit."
On the platform, Zhuo Shan's expression stiffened when he heard the taunt.
But he was in the middle of a fight. He ignored it and focused on his opponent.
Jiang Ping An kept taunting him. "Why are you backing off? What are you so scared of? Get in there and hit him!"
"Put some strength into it! You punched him and he didn't even react. What a useless fool. Watching you makes my blood boil!"
"What an embarrassment. How did someone this weak dare step into the arena?"
The harsh taunts echoed around the arena.
Taunting was something even mortals could do, and it worked on high-level gods just as well.
Some people thought high-level gods had lived so long that their hearts were unshakable, that insults neither moved nor mattered to them.
That was a complete misunderstanding.
The higher a person's status, the more they cared about saving face.
If high-level gods truly did not care about insults, why did no one insult the powerful to their faces?
Because even the weak knew they would be slapped to death for it.
Of course, when the powerful killed the weak, their hearts truly did not