Eighth-Turn Demonic Beast Corpse

The Sea Shark Palace Master sat at the head of the hall, expressionless as he listened to everyone's complaints.

His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest, his gaze sweeping across the faces of every Great Demon, yet he never spoke.

Only after the voices in the hall gradually subsided did he slowly rise to his feet.

An invisible pressure radiated from him. Though it carried traces of weakness from wounds not yet healed after the battle, it still wiped the clamor from the hall clean in an instant.

His gaze settled on the Silver Flood Dragon, his tone calm yet carrying unquestionable weight:

"You all know what you speak of. But have you considered how much more we will lose if we continue fighting?

"Ao Xing of the Dragon Race is still lying in the Dragon Palace recovering from grave injuries. Those old fellows of Sea Shark Palace cannot make a move. If we keep fighting, which one of you will stop Worshipper Duan's divine weapon?

"Who will face the Cangwu Old Ancestor lurking in the shadows?"

He paused, his gaze turning several degrees colder. "I will personally negotiate with the Human Race regarding compensation.

"The less we pay, the better.

"But if anyone continues complaining here without end, do not blame me for disregarding old ties."

The hall fell silent. Several Sixth Turn Great Demons exchanged glances, then ultimately lowered their heads and said no more.

Only the Silver Flood Dragon remained standing where he was. His silvery-white scales flickered faintly beneath the spiritual light. After a long silence, he slowly sat back down.

After the several Sixth Turn Great Demons departed one after another, only the Sea Shark Palace Master remained in the hall.

The dim spiritual light of the seabed stretched his shadow long.

He sat upright