Lu Zhenhai looked toward Zhao Lingwu. "Brother Zhao, we agreed on a Five-Person Round Battle. Are we really going to fight to the death?"
"In a round battle, we naturally fight with all our strength," Zhao Lingwu said. "We can't keep shrinking back in fear. Once we enter the arena, life and death are up to fate."
Lu Zhenhai's face turned grave. This is trouble. These people had come to help for a share of the spoils, but few were willing to risk their lives.
"What is it? Did Brother Lu summon this whole crowd, yet not a single warrior dares to fight?" Zhao Lingwu sneered.
Lu Zhenhai called out, "Which fellow cultivator is willing to fight? Lu Mou will make sure you're well compensated. One battle earns you a Purple Talisman."
At this point, he could only offer a high price to recruit a brave soul.
Dong Xiaoshan, who had issued the challenge earlier, retreated into the formation under everyone's watchful eyes. He clasped his hands toward Lu Zhenhai. "My cultivation has been hard-won. Forgive me, but I can't risk my life in a fight."
The white-clothed youth threw back his head and laughed. "Who would have thought that the world today was full of gutless cowards? If people like you lived for ten thousand years, would you ever attain the Great Dao? Is there anyone who dares answer the challenge? If no one does, then all of you had better scatter now, before I have to look at you and foul my eyes."
The youth had a graceful bearing, but his voice was like an owl's screech. He called himself "this old man" at every turn, as if afraid no one would realize he was an evil cultivator who had seized a body and started cultivating anew.
"It's