Next, the man gripping the fox-like fiendish beast used a deft burst of force to viciously fling what he held into the midst of the Stone Giants and Puppet Guards, immediately triggering a tremendous commotion.
The Puppet Guards, which had been lifeless objects a moment ago, all shuddered the instant the fox-like fiendish beast hit the ground. Then, like True People, they spread their legs, swung their arms, and closed in on the beast.
There were an enormous number of these Puppet Guards, several times more than the Stone Giants in the valley. Once they began to move, they surged like a tide, densely packed, nimble in their motions, nothing like stiff wooden puppets.
Moreover, Meng Zhao could faintly discern within their movements an incomparably profound movement art. It was graceful and agile, like riding cranes and soaring through clouds, filled with leisure and elegance.
The techniques they used to surround the fox-like fiendish beast did indeed bear some resemblance to those Ji Rushuang had used. No, not merely resemblance—they came from the same lineage. It was only that Ji Rushuang had been young at the time and had remembered few moves, nor had she grasped their essence.
These Puppet Guards seemed like a computer program into which someone had implanted a martial art. Each Puppet Guard represented one stance of martial arts; all the stances combined formed one complete martial art.
Yet there were simply too many puppets, and their moves were too complicated. Even if someone possessed heaven-blessed talent and memorized every one of these martial arts in an extremely short time, it would still be difficult to sort out their sequence. If the order of the moves was reversed, the power would be greatly diminished at best; at worst, one's skill would scatter and one would perish.