In the center of the snowfield, Geng Pomo, who had blocked a volley of arrows with his body-hardening technique, suddenly burst into loud laughter. He seemed deeply satisfied with his physical cultivation. His otherwise unremarkable features twisted into something ugly and ferocious.
Deep within his pitch-black pupils, it was as though demons lurked, radiating intense killing intent.
With a kick of his foot, a solid force instantly compressed the soft snow into a dense, snow-white ball. With a roar, it tore through the howling wind and blizzard, shooting into the air above the Dan Chi Clan warriors.
The snowball suddenly exploded in midair, spraying dozens of fine streams of force that caused no small amount of trouble for the Dan Chi warriors below. Of course, it was only trouble.
Every one of these Dan Chi warriors was agile and nimble, with keen instincts. When the snowball came flying, they had already prepared to scatter. Thus, even the most seriously injured had merely suffered cuts to the skin—shallow wounds, nothing more.
Instead, Geng Pomo's attitude filled these Dan Chi warriors, who had repeatedly yielded ground and whose nerves were already stretched taut, with fury.
He had never intended to use this move to kill or wound them. It was merely an appetizer for a cat playing with mice.
When a cat played with a mouse, it did not kill the mouse at once. It played with it until it grew tired of it, tormented it enough, and only then bit it to death. Geng Pomo was doing the same now.
Arrogant and overbearing—he had made it clear that he had them completely in the palm of his hand.
"Young Master Lu, if you are willing, please act quickly. I am afraid my clansmen will be provoked into losing their heads and