Time slowly passed.
Above the valley, the dense clouds lingered without dispersing. Instead, the winds and thunder grew ever more turbulent, carrying the sense of a mountain storm about to break.
At the same time, the air was thick with the pungent smell of sulfur, the lingering aftermath of erupting fire thunder.
Yet it was precisely this oppressive atmosphere that left everyone present even more anxious and unsettled.
On the ritual platform, the crowd waited anxiously, their gazes all fixed on Meng Zhao.
This peerless prodigy of the Divine Land merely stood tall with his eyes closed. Not a shred of his overbearing aura had diminished, yet he seemed to have sunk into his own world.
He appeared to be weighing matters, torn over a choice.
Beyond that, he made no movement at all.
It looked very much like he was stalling for time. Given his intellect and decisiveness, he should not have needed so long.
Yet he stood there without moving. What use was delaying? Could reinforcements possibly arrive?
Those who should have come had already come, and those who should have died were dead beyond doubt.
Under the watchful eyes of the Four Death Thunder Guards, no one dared make the slightest move, afraid that some misunderstanding might cause the Death Thunder Guards to detonate the Thunderbolt Children in the valley and drag everyone down with them.
These Death Thunder Guards had long been trained into deathsworn warriors. They cared nothing for life or death.
People like Si Peng and Mo Li cherished their lives greatly. Otherwise, they would not have promptly pledged themselves to Meng Zhao the moment they saw the situation turning unfavorable.
Was it not because they feared Meng Zhao would kill them and end their lives here?
The Four Death Thunder Guards also found