"Air-Splitting Palm!"
Wang Sheng raised his hand toward the man from afar and struck out with his palm.
A massive gray, translucent palm formed from Soul Power flew straight at the man.
It was so fast it arrived in an instant.
The bootlicker, cowed by Wang Sheng's aura, had yet to react before the giant palm was already before his eyes.
"Rumble..."
The bootlicker's chest bones were smashed apart, and blood sprayed wildly from his mouth.
His body flew backward as if he had been hit by a truck, slamming hard into the tavern wall.
It smashed a human-shaped hole straight through it.
As Wang Sheng's strength continued to rise, the true power of his martial arts began to reveal itself.
"Hah!"
Who had that man been just now?
Others might not know, but how could Wang Tianfang and Wang Lin not know?
That was their clansman, Wang Zong. Though his strength was inferior to theirs, he was still a four-ring Soul Ancestor!
Yet he had been killed in a single blow!
They looked at the absurdly young Wang Sheng, and the corners of their mouths could not help twitching.
One had to know that Wang Zong was already over thirty.
Comparing the two, it felt as if Wang Zong's thirty years had practically been lived on a dog.
No, it was they who had all lived their years on dogs.
Beside him, Elder Nangong's eyes were filled with astonishment, along with a trace of fervor.
He had seen this move long ago, but back then, its power had not been as strong as it was now. He had not expected that after merely rising by a dozen or so levels, its might would become so much greater.
Suddenly, he sensed something was off again.
Then, as if he had