Ye Lin held the Emperor Sword and quietly watched the eight of them.
On the Emperor Sword, razor-sharp Sword Qi constantly surged and spat out terrifying sword radiance.
And Ye Lin simply watched in silence.
"Attack together. We only have one chance."
"Coordinate with each other. Kill him from eight directions. As long as one of us succeeds, we win."
"Hahaha, kill! In a battle between prodigies, either you die or I perish. Since when is there any mercy?"
"Kill."
The eight Witch Clan prodigies finished discussing their tactics in mere moments.
Their first attack had only been meant to test Ye Lin's strength, yet from that single probe, they had already lost two foundation-level prodigies.
There could be no more testing now. They could only go all out—either he died, or they did.
As for surviving?
Their ancestor had pleaded for this, one man against eight.
If they lost this, then even if they somehow clung to life in the end, they would find it hard to keep living.
After all, among those who could become foundation-level prodigies, who would be a coward afraid of death?
Not one.
Afraid of death?
Impossible.
The eight figures took up eight positions, watching Ye Lin like tigers eyeing their prey.
Just as they thought Ye Lin had lowered his guard, all eight figures struck at once.
Every one of them attacked with their full strength.
As the Witch Clan's eight great foundation-level prodigies moved together, even the void trembled.
Incomparably dense power of laws spread wantonly through the Starry Sky.
The many experts watching from nearby could not help but put more distance between themselves and the battlefield.
"Worthy indeed of foundation-level prodigies. Even from this far away, the aura they release gives me a heart-pounding sense of dread."
"They are foundation-level