Meng Zhao was suddenly startled, not intimidated by the evil weapon's power, but because this "Meng Zhao" that had abruptly appeared in his Sea of Consciousness gave him a feeling that was both familiar and strange.
This was utterly different from Zhao Hun's mere resemblance in appearance. It was an eerie sensation of two sides of one whole—I was him, he was me, yet they were undeniably two separate individuals.
"Despicable wretch, squatting in my body like a thief—get out at once!"
The pitch-black Meng Zhao, shrouded in every manner of evil thought and Demonic Thought, stared with dark-star eyes brimming with dense Killing Aura and roared at Meng Zhao. His voice was full of unwillingness and fury, as though he had suffered some colossal injustice.
Meng Zhao shuddered, then suddenly thought of something. Narrowing his eyes, he said coldly,
"So it was you!"
This Meng Zhao, born from the evil weapon's most wicked thoughts, was not simply a fiendish manifestation. One crucial component of him was actually the faint trace of instinctive spiritual essence left within this body.
Meng Zhao's soul had descended from another world. Only after devouring the soul of a beggar on the verge of death had he gained a body anew. Because of his appearance, Zhao Hun had taken notice of him, saved him, and given him a chance at rebirth.
In essence, if Meng Zhao had not existed, this body's original owner should likewise have caught Zhao Hun's eye and gone on to live a life that might have been ordinary or might have been brilliant. As for where it would ultimately lead, that was unknowable.
Yet there were no ifs in this world. The beggar's soul had been devoured by Meng Zhao, and its limited, pallid memories had also been absorbed by him.