Jimò Cong's eyes turned cold.
At a glance, he saw what Wei Cheng was planning.
He sighed inwardly. His expression grew even more stern and resolute as he cut off any unwarranted softness and hesitation. In a cold voice, he gave his final warning: "Wei Yucheng, since you insist on being stubborn and refusing to see reason, I can only grant your wish!"
Of course, he wasn't granting Wei Cheng permission to continue his slaughter.
Jimò Cong knew that, and Wei Cheng knew it even better.
He threw his head back and laughed wildly, brazenly arrogant. His laughter rose louder and louder, like a demonic sound piercing the soul. The soldiers of both armies, friend and foe alike, were affected to varying degrees, feeling firsthand the fury Wei Cheng was consumed by. Those with weaker wills even found tears surging in their eyes beneath that bone-deep emotion. "Stubborn and refusing to see reason? Hahahahaha! I, Wei Cheng, have campaigned across the north and south, only to earn such a judgment. Jimò Miaoming, since you call yourself some damned outsider, then go back to being your High Priest!"
Instead of waving a ridiculous banner to condemn him.
Gods, and their followers!
How arrogant! How ridiculous!
Wei Cheng's final words even cracked into a shriek, but Jimò Cong remained unmoved. Countless strands of blood, gathered from divine power, converged at the top of her wooden staff in just a few breaths, forming a massive sphere of light. The uneven battlefield glimmered faintly. Seen from above, the lights followed some pattern, some path, rapidly converging to form a brilliant, mysterious design.
The designs' patterns matched the hidden embroidery on the High Priest's ceremonial robes.
The taut string in Qian Yong's heart finally slackened. When he let out the stale breath he'd been holding