Wu Heng left after tossing out those words.
Since their reward was "freedom," there was no need for him to keep enslaving them.
They were merely a few Cursed Disciples, after all. Using them to fulfill Martin's promise was no great loss.
Besides, he believed that even without his control, these people would not disappoint him.
In the depths of the forest, beneath a moonless, windy night, the dark, towering trees looked grotesque, their dead branches rustling in the cold wind like the whispers of evil ghosts.
Only Martin and the silent Cursed Disciples remained.
After a moment of silence, Martin slowly turned around, and the blood-red glow in the eyes of thousands of Blood Floss Cursed Disciples flared at once.
They remained silent, waiting.
Because they all knew that Martin before them would not disappoint them!
Martin rose ten meters into the air, sliced through a nearby tree two meters thick with his hand blade, and landed atop the ten-meter stump, staring down at the Cursed Disciples below.
"God is dead!" he shouted, raising his right fist.
"God is dead! God is dead! Caw! Caw!" The scarlet eyes of thousands of Cursed Disciples lit up in the forest like flames. They screamed hoarsely and madly, as though venting.
Venting the suffocation and torment of having been imprisoned in pale white rooms for decades, even centuries, and used like machines!
They shouted themselves hoarse.
Martin's raised right fist slowly unfurled into an open palm. The cries gradually died down, and the forest fell quiet once more.
The red glow in the Cursed Disciples' nearly ten thousand eyes burned even brighter, like blazing fire.
The blood-red flames of vengeance!
They stayed silent, motionless, maintaining their stillness only because the gaunt figure on the stump ten meters ahead—the figure like a vulture—was