The army of the Three-Eyed Race and the survivors of the other destroyed planes attacked the middle-aged man with black-and-white hair.
They pulled out every trick they had.
Every move unleashed here belonged to a cultivation method countless cultivators in the Void Realm dreamed of obtaining.
Every weapon and item used here was a treasure countless cultivators in the Void Realm yearned for day and night.
Every formation and pill deployed here was a resource countless cultivators in the Void Realm flocked to like ducks to water.
Now, all of them were being used to attack the mysterious middle-aged man.
Yet, although the gathered cultivators included fighters who represented the highest levels of power across several planes, their attacks could not even cross the ring of spatial abyss the mysterious man had created.
The power of shattered space twisted every attack, tangible or intangible.
Some charged forward in fury, only to be pulverized into particles by the spatial abyss.
Some roared in impotent rage, only to be torn in half by spatial rifts that fell from nowhere.
Terror seized them, and they instinctively tried to flee.
But when they looked back, the world behind them was collapsing too. There was nowhere to run.
Throughout the assault, the mysterious man never moved. He stood there quietly with his eyes half closed, as though nothing in this world had anything to do with him.
Someone demanded answers at the top of their lungs.
"Bastard! Animal!! Vile scum!!! What do you gain from doing this?! How does destroying our homes help you?!"
The mysterious man did hear that.
But he did not answer at all. Instead, he glanced at the crowd and said something. They could not hear it, but judging by the movement of his lips, it was probably:
"Noisy."
Then the