Regardless of whether this man was the top expert in the Divine Might Army camp, he was certainly no match for Meng Zhao. Naturally, under such circumstances, his life and death were no longer his own to decide.
The next instant, before he could speak, Meng Zhao's slender, fair hand reached out and grabbed at him. Its aura stood solemn as a mountain, its palm gleaming like jade. There was no particularly exquisite or clever movement to it, yet it possessed the charm of great skill appearing clumsy.
An incomparably terrifying force of suction suddenly erupted, and a small, black-hole-like vortex collapsed into being within his palm.
Though the mustached middle-aged man had planted his feet like a vajra rooted to the earth, as heavy as a thousand-pound weight, his body still floated forward against his will.
It was as though an invisible thread were tugging him toward the other man's palm.
The subtlety of the force alone was not worth much praise. The key was that the perfectly ordinary fair palm radiated an unimaginably vast and tyrannical aura, yet in his mind, it transformed into a jade hand that held up the heavens.
Its fingers were like pillars of heaven, its palm lines like rivers. Plucking stars and seizing the moon would be as easy as turning a hand—let alone capturing a mere rat like him?
This North Sea Dragon Fighting Hand, infused with the Heaven Swallowing Sun Devouring Great Law, could be considered one of Meng Zhao's signature techniques. It was no longer bound by set forms, moving as his heart desired, and its power was astonishing.
At every turn, qi, intent, and momentum overlapped, forming an invincible, unbreakable divine move of outrageous might.
The effect was plain to see. The mustached middle-aged man, an Innate Realm Warrior