You're bald, and I won't hold that against you. But you won't even return openly, yet you still dare call yourself the Dragon King?
Fu Qian had never been one to judge by appearances, and he had not even taken their old grudges to heart.
The reason his tone toward the Dragon King was less than polite was mainly because of the latter's behavior.
What was the point of roaring so loudly? At least show your face.
Even if you really couldn't show your face, you could at least show what you could do.
Instead, you just roared back and forth over there without even spitting on his face. Did you look down on his cultivation in wiping away spit from his face?
Such negligence, such humiliation—this was already a path to death.
In an instant, the crime and punishment had been decided. The remade King of Prison Break, who had arrived full of enthusiasm and prepared to let bygones be bygones, immediately snorted coldly and stopped holding back.
His somewhat thin body began to swell, spin, and piece itself together madly... Rending King Man, transform!
Time to slaughter—wait, it looked like it had spat something out.
Fu Qian, who had just summoned a breastplate, paused his transformation and stared ahead.
As though it had finally realized it had misunderstood an Old Acquaintance, the Dragon King did not roar again, and the Soul Butterflies fell completely silent.
In their place, a thread of hazy red mist rose up, faintly giving that unreal body a touch of color.
Cough... cough cough...
What challenged the imagination somewhat was that the red mist was not rising from the blood pool. Instead, the apostle brother, who had shown no movement all this time, suddenly began coughing violently.
Having quite the dream?
Fu Qian