Yet Meng Zhao felt neither fear nor dread. Instead, a trace of tranquil delight rose within him, showing in his eyes brimming with violet light, mingled with an intense fighting spirit.
As the old saying went, a true friend was hard to find, but a worthy opponent was even rarer—something one could only encounter by chance.
Since cultivating martial arts to this point, Meng Zhao himself had no clear measure of just how strong his combat power was. He had rarely been able to fight to his heart's content, and even more rarely had anyone driven him into a desperate corner.
For instance, at the Inner Demon Gathering in Mishui Immortal Palace, he had defeated one demonic-path Innate Master after another with effortless ease, never feeling the slightest strain. Ordinary Innate Masters simply could not rouse his interest.
To borrow Lord Guan's words, they were a rabble with heads marked for sale, broken bricks and shattered tiles. There was arrogance in it, certainly, but even more so, confidence and assurance in his own strength.
Especially after the three Great Grandmasters had discussed martial arts and exchanged insights, Meng Zhao had gained enormously. His realm had become ever more profound and lofty, entering a mysterious state beyond comprehension, improving almost every moment.
Thus, he wanted even more to find a powerful opponent capable of weighing his abilities, someone who could serve as a benchmark for all he had learned.
Today, Meng Zhao felt that this Gebhu Dharma King of the Pudu Cult was an exceptionally rare opponent, one truly worthy of being called a formidable rival.
Seeing that the old monk did not speak again, Meng Zhao had no wish to waste precious time. He gathered his breath and strength, then lightly kicked with the tip of his foot.
The enormous