The Soul Had Already Left This World
Huai Li's taunts were exactly like Mu Zhuo's had been when he faced Feng Xuanzhi.
Bi Fan could only laugh in disbelief. Was cultivating a Dragon Slaying Mark really such an impressive feat among the Mo Fu Clan?
It certainly was. The Dragon Slaying Mark was the Mo Fu Clan's trump card—its ace, even. It was incredibly difficult to cultivate, with extremely harsh requirements. The ordeal was sheer torture, and only those blessed with talent and diligence, strength and perseverance, could condense one.
But once it was condensed, the rewards were immense.
If Mu Zhuo's strength had not been limited, and the patterns he had condensed and inscribed had not been so shallow, then even Feng Xuanzhi, reborn through nirvana, could not have escaped those shackles.
The mark before him was darker in color, and its black lines more intricate and complex. Clearly, it was a notch stronger than the previous one.
Bi Fan narrowed his eyes. He could sense the storm's lethal threat without even using Soul Power. It was not merely the overwhelming gap in strength; more than that, he was nearly helpless against the Dragon Slaying Mark.
The Dragon Slaying Mark coiled over the golden, cone-shaped storm like a little snake. Its beginning and end were nowhere to be seen; only its dark lines continuously swirled and circled.
The cone-shaped storm grew more and more imposing. It seemed to draw the surrounding air into its vortex, where immense power gathered and surged.
At last, in a single instant, even Huai Li seemed unable to bear the storm's fierce, surging force. He shouted in a low voice, "Golden Drum Storm! Dragon Slaying Mark! Go!"
At his command, the golden storm was flung out like a cannonball. Clouds churned and winds howled