The Nether God was grievously wounded, and his injuries had only been temporarily suppressed.
As a result, he could no longer manage prolonged flight and could only skim forward through the air.
The journey that he could previously have completed in half a day took him two whole days before he finally entered the area covered by the temple.
Along the way, however, everything he saw struck him as rather strange. Why were there so many fewer guards on patrol?
Although those people still appeared incomparably respectful when they saw him,
the Nether God noticed something different in their expressions.
More strangely, even the members of the Nether Race who went out hunting had clearly become fewer.
During the time he had been away, either something had happened, or those Saint Realm elders and protectors had grown lazy.
At this thought, a cold glint flashed through the Nether God's eyes.
It seemed that the lesson he had given those people had still been far too mild.
The Nether God promptly put the matter aside and continued skimming toward the temple.
Before he reached the temple, he sensed that something was wrong.
The connection between him and the temple had actually been severed.
What was going on? Could this be Ming Gan's doing? Did he have the nerve?
The Nether God had great confidence in his Curse Poison Art and simply refused to believe that Ming Gan would dare betray him.
At this thought, the anxious Nether God accelerated toward the temple.
Before he could approach the temple, nine figures were already flying rapidly toward him.
"Greetings, my lord!" Ming Lin and the others arrived beside the Nether God and respectfully saluted him.
The Nether God examined Ming Lin and the others who had come, but found nothing unusual about them.