Tang Hao opened his eyes.
Dark-red light churned in those eyes, like flames burning deep within his pupils.
He lowered his head and glanced at his hand. His five fingers spread, then clenched again, and his bones gave faint cracks.
He felt a fullness inside him he had never known before, as if something had filled him up—yet also as if, after being hollowed out, something heavier had been poured back in.
He raised his head, his gaze falling on the figure at the edge of the blood pool.
The King of Slaughter, Tang Chen, stood by the pool.
He looked much younger than he had in Tang Hao's memories. The black robe on him was clean and neat, without the slightest crease.
His face was no longer twisted and ferocious as it had once been. The eyes that had once been eroded by the will of slaughter until they were nearly mad were now as clear as a pool of filtered water—calm, steady, and free of impurities. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture composed, like someone who had finally awakened from a long nightmare.
"How do you feel?" Tang Chen asked, his voice much steadier than before.
Tang Hao drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out.
"Strong." He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.
"Grandfather. I'm already a Limit Douluo!"
"So this is what a god is? With barely any effort, they can let me break through to Limit Douluo."
"No wonder the Qian Clan has produced so many Limit Douluo over the years."
Tang Hao sighed with emotion.
If he had cultivated normally, even he, Tang Hao, would have found it very difficult to break through to Limit Douluo.
For Limit Douluo, it was easy for