A One-Against-Eight
To Lin Qin, a distance of three hundred miles was but an instant.
His figure turned into a streak of azure light and crashed straight into the Eight Great Clans' formation. He was so fast that the Seven-Star Fiends had no time to react. They only felt a wild gust sweep past before that figure had passed through the outer perimeter and landed before the eight clan leaders.
Barak's pupils contracted sharply.
He had not expected the Four Divine Beasts Clan to employ such tactics—sending one man charging alone into the formation. Was this a death wish, or did he have something to rely on?
"Spread out!" he shouted.
The eight retreated at once, opening up the distance in an instant and surrounding Lin Qin in the middle. The three hundred Seven-Star Fiends also came to their senses at that moment, swiftly fanning out to form a massive encirclement that sealed off the battlefield completely.
Lin Qin stood at the center of the encirclement, his expression calm.
The Azure Dragon Claw was worn on his left hand, while the Dragon-Slaying Blade was gripped in his right. His gaze swept across the eight faces—Barak, Dracula, Wenna, Edmond, Manson, Sheng Hui, Poseidon, and Ashton.
"Kid, have you gone mad?" Dracula sneered darkly. "Charging in here alone—are you looking to die?"
Lin Qin did not answer.
He merely tightened his grip on the hilt and took a step forward.
The instant that step landed, the atmosphere across the entire battlefield abruptly changed.
An invisible pressure spread from Lin Qin, enveloping a radius of a hundred miles. It was neither the pressure of laws nor the fluctuation of divine power, but killing intent refined to its absolute extreme—killing intent cold to its absolute extreme.
Dracula's smile froze on his face.
He suddenly