Within the ritual, the binding force of order was incomparably powerful. This was not merely the Chess Player King's power. He alone could never have possessed such mighty order.
The entire ritual had used two root-level treasures as sacrifices, along with every living being in the Evolution Battlefield as offerings.
The rules of the chessboard were merely the ritual's outer appearance. In its deeper reaches lurked an even more abyssal terror.
Here, losing a game of chess would indeed not kill you—but it was more agonizing than death. Your body would turn into a stone statue, sinking into eternal despair.
Zhao Cheng paid little attention to the Chess Player King's incessant chatter. In Zhao Cheng's eyes, this madman before him was nothing more than a laughable clown. The only thing remotely formidable about him was probably how disgusting his methods were.
He did not even need to play chess with him. So long as one thought according to the other party's logic, one would unknowingly fall into his trap, and one's mind would begin to be corrupted.
The stone statues below were like that.
That god-man who had once used Riding Six Dragons Through Time had now become a dim stone statue. Zhao Cheng could clearly sense the despair upon it.
If the Chess Player King's methods were used against the weak, they were indeed unstoppable—like the Joker in films Zhao Cheng had once watched, brimming with oppressive force.
But against the strong, his performance was rather comical.
Indeed, in this instant, Zhao Cheng was bound by the ritual and could only let the Chess Player King perform, watching one familiar person after another die.
Yet Zhao Cheng had long understood a certain ultimate truth of the root: death was merely an appearance, and disappearance only temporary. If one's power