Chen Feng stared at the golden box before him, hesitating for a long while before finally opening it.
The instant the box opened, countless strands of Black Qi flew out from within.
The temperature in the secret chamber instantly dropped to the point where dripping water froze into ice.
Seeing this, Chen Feng said calmly, "This junior has come today to borrow the strength of you all."
The moment those words fell, countless jeers rang out in the secret chamber.
"Hahaha!"
"You, a mere little cultivator, dare come borrow our strength? What Arabian Nights!"
Facing the mockery of the many phantoms, Chen Feng paid it no mind and merely continued.
"I need to borrow your strength to strike him with a single sword."
"You hate him to the bone. I imagine this request should suit your wishes quite well."
As his words fell, the laughter in the secret chamber grew even louder.
"Hahaha!"
"Ant, you think far too highly of yourself."
"You want to strike Chen Changsheng with a sword? Do you think you are the White-Haired Sword God?"
"It is true that we were defeated by Chen Changsheng, but that does not mean you have the right to draw your sword against him."
"Besides, what concern is the affairs of our Epoch to an outsider like you?"
"What gives you the right!"
Looking at the phantoms around him, Chen Feng sat down on the Meditation Cushion.
"Sir was right. You truly are a group of narrow-minded, hidebound misers!"
"Insolence!"
A furious rebuke rang out, and a thick layer of frost instantly formed over Chen Feng's body.
Yet rather than fearing such a sight, Chen Feng raised his head and looked at them.
"The arrogant ones are not me, but you."
"When faced with someone earnestly speaking with you, you