Just as everyone was at their wits' end, the Third Holy Son called out, "Fellow Daoists of the various Daoist courts, lend me your strength!"
Whether the Third Holy Son truly commanded such authority, or had secretly sent them a thought-transmission promising some reward, was unknown.
At once, more than thirty people from the various Daoist courts surged toward the Third Holy Son.
Just then, the Third Holy Son's released soul fragment fully manifested: a solid black pillar as thick as a sea bowl, striking straight at the vine joint of a golden gourd.
Perhaps the Third Holy Son had sent another thought-transmission. All thirty-plus point origin experts released soul fragments, gathering them into that black pillar of soul.
Suddenly, the black pillar blazed with light and transformed into a black sickle. Its blade slowly began to saw at the emerald-green vine joint connecting the golden gourd.
In the blink of an eye, dozens of breaths passed, yet not the slightest nick appeared in the vine joint.
A cold smile lifted the corner of Wang Yao's mouth. He's nothing special after all.
He had not expected that, once the black sickle began cutting, it would never stop.
A full half a cup of tea later, a shallow crescent-shaped notch finally appeared in the vine joint.
Nothing was more demoralizing than working in vain. Once hope appeared, those who had been laboring could summon a hundred thousand times their enthusiasm.
That was exactly the situation now. Under threats or promises, the people from the various Daoist courts had been forced to lend their strength to the Third Holy Son.
Yet after half a cup of tea with no result, who knew how many had begun to grumble.
Now, though, the moment they saw a notch open in the vine joint connecting