"Xia Ping, let me tell you honestly—don't think you can still defeat us."
"That's right. To deal with your illusions, we've spent this time cultivating all kinds of mental sealing techniques, enough to withstand any illusion art. You won't be as lucky as before."
"This Sacred Land Grand Competition, we'll show you something: the Primordial Sacred Land is filled with powerful experts. It's not a place where some junior like you can swagger about, run wild, and throw your weight around."
"Senior brothers will always be senior brothers. You're just a disciple who recently entered the sect—how could you possibly compare to us?"
The many inner disciples of the Primordial Sacred Land gnashed their teeth. The crushing defeat they had suffered at Xia Ping's hands remained fresh in their memories. It had been a painful lesson, one that had turned them into the laughingstocks of countless Primordial Sacred Land disciples.
It could be said that Xia Ping had built his reputation by stepping on their heads. Every one of them had become a stepping stone to his fame, mere background props for his rise.
To be honest, among their respective great clans—or even among the entire human race—they all counted as peerless geniuses. Proud and arrogant by nature, how could they endure such humiliation?
The fact that they had endured for so long before coming to seek revenge and issue a challenge already showed that their patience was extraordinary.
Of course, this was also related to their fear of Xia Ping's illusion arts. If they could not withstand those illusions, then stepping forward would only make them a laughingstock again.
But during this time, they had studied Xia Ping's many illusion techniques, cultivated diligently and painstakingly, and prepared numerous secret treasures capable of resisting illusions.
Thus, they believed they no