Long Street Spell Duel

Wang Dao Xuan's spellcraft was truly terrifying.

The threat of death drove Zhu Suanpan to summon the "Netherworld Stage" at all costs.

This object had a fearsome reputation. The Ghost Opera Troupe of old had once relied on it to run rampant throughout the martial world. Now that the troupe had been rebuilt, and with the aid of an unknown force, they had forged many more of them.

Every opera troupe had one to suppress its fortune.

With the aid of this treasure, Zhu Suanpan immediately escaped his perilous situation.

Just as Wang Dao Xuan was about to recite the incantation, a force of resentment as solid as matter suddenly surged from the Netherworld Stage, forcibly severing the connection between his secret curse and Zhu Suanpan.

"Mm~"

The backlash from the spell made Wang Dao Xuan grunt, and his face paled.

He hurriedly withdrew the spell. The straw effigy in his hand burst into flames.

Even so, frost still condensed on his fingertips before rapidly spreading up both arms.

"What powerful resentment! Be careful!"

The Daoist's vision went black in waves, but he endured the pain and warned Lu San.

On the other side, Zhu Suanpan was suffering just as badly.

"Pfft!"

He spat out a mouthful of black blood, and his aura instantly weakened by more than half.

First, he had been injured by Wang Dao Xuan's spell. Second, summoning and forcibly driving the Netherworld Stage had nearly drained his strength and vital essence. His face had withered, and his hair roots visibly turned white.

Yet his fierce desire to survive only made the murderous glint in his eyes burn brighter.

"You little bastards, not one of you is getting out alive!"

Enduring the agony, Zhu Suanpan's emaciated fingers frantically clicked across the abacus. The opera-like tune in his