Meng Zhao's voice was slightly cold. Though he did not strike directly or reveal any Killing Aura, Mo Li's heart still pounded in terror.
He felt as though his life would be taken the very next moment. A deep fear surged into his heart, and he shouted,
"Wait! Meng Zhao, I know your martial arts are peerless. Killing me would not be difficult, and I am willing to pledge allegiance to you.
But I am, after all, one of the Divine Might Army's six great guard commanders, holding high rank and authority, with dignity and prestige. How can you make me kneel like those two? This is humiliation. I will not do it."
Meng Zhao snorted coldly. This was the very picture of wanting to erect a chastity arch after whoring oneself out—deceiving no one but himself. He stepped forward. No one saw him make any particular movement, yet his bearing and divine might were like a true dragon lowering its head.
His pair of dragon eyes were deep and domineering, divine light gleaming as they shone over Mo Li's entire body. With a turn of thought, he invisibly mobilized the grand momentum of the mountains and rivers here. Their auras resonated, and Mo Li's entire body sank. He felt countless pressures from all directions bearing down on him, his bones creaking, his flesh, tendons, and membranes squeezed tight. He could barely breathe, as though drowning.
This was by no means merely an oppression of mind and spirit, but a double suppression of both spirit and flesh. Mo Li finally understood completely that the Lord of the Northern Meng Dragon King's martial arts were simply appalling beyond belief. What he had displayed before had been no more than the tip of the iceberg.
He completely extinguished any thought of opposing