Below, the Golden Sacred Dragon's phantom had already faded.
Four Title Douluo stepped forward shoulder to shoulder. As their Soul Rings flared, the dragon phantom shuddered and collapsed inward, as if gripped by an invisible hand.
Su Mo watched the four figures, each bearing nine rings, and narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Soul Beast Extinction, and then the Ring Condensation Technique. Sure enough, there are more Title Douluo now." His voice was flat. "These four would only have made Soul Douluo before. Now they've all clawed their way up."
Xiao Wu clicked her tongue. "Doesn't that make them even harder to deal with?"
"Not really," Su Mo said. "There's a vast gap between one Title Douluo and another. Those who force their way up with the Ring Condensation Technique don't have a ninth Soul Skill, and they can forget about Soul Bones. They can only throw their weight around somewhere like the Tang Sect, where there are no real powerhouses."
As he spoke, his gaze settled on Tang San.
The young man stood surrounded by his disciples, his back looking frail. His nails dug into his palms until they bled.
Su Mo felt no sympathy as he watched him. He only thought this was exactly what he had expected.
Tang San was clever, but he had poured all that cleverness into Cultivation Techniques and Hidden Weapons.
He had almost no grasp of human relationships or the bigger picture.
In his previous life, he had been confined to the Tang Sect. In this one, he had spent his time circling within his own little sect.
The moment he became involved in a real struggle between powers, his shortcomings were laid bare.
He had risen in his previous life because the author had showered him with advantages.
Now, Tang San had nowhere near