He looked at Su Tao, then at the wisp of black flame still hovering in the air, his lips trembling violently.
"Th... this is impossible..."
he muttered hoarsely, his voice like a broken gong.
"The First Emperor said... this formation could slay a seventh-level Quasi-Saint..."
"The First Emperor would not lie to us..."
"No..."
He repeated it over and over, as though saying it enough times could turn everything before him into an illusion.
Su Tao withdrew his finger, and the wisp of black flame vanished with it.
He stood with his hands behind his back, looking at the dazed Buddhist cultivators before him. There was neither pity nor mockery in his eyes.
Only calm.
The calm of one looking down upon ants.
"The First Emperor was right."
He spoke lightly, his voice as still as water.
"This formation can indeed slay a seventh-level Quasi-Saint."
"But that was when it was whole."
"Your grand formation has been passed down for countless years and fused with the wills of a million Buddhist cultivators. It sounds impressive."
"But you forgot one thing."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over every face present.
"The cultivation of those Buddhist cultivators fused into the formation never exceeded the second level of the Quasi-Saint Realm."
"A million second-level Quasi-Saints are still only second-level Quasi-Saints when added together."
"Before absolute power, numbers are meaningless."
His voice was not loud, yet it was like a heavy hammer striking every Buddhist cultivator in the chest again and again.
"The inheritance you take such pride in is nothing but a sandcastle piled a little higher before me."
"It looks magnificent, but one punch will still shatter it."
As his words fell, the entire space sank into dead silence.
The Buddhist cultivators slumped to the ground, their faces ashen.
They wanted to