"This guy is so weak that he can't stand on Arena?"
"What are you bragging about?"
"That's right, why are you bragging and pretending to be a big-tailed wolf? Where are our people? Come up quickly and don't keep this weak guy waiting for too long."
"That's right, whoever it is, hurry up and solve it quickly."
"Quick, quick, don't delay."
On the side of the Hunding Ancient Clan.
All Chaos Ancient Clan looked at the figure on Arena, and at the same time they all pouted with disdain on their faces.
A Third Heaven Quasi-Saint Realm monk said he was weak and could not stand?
Who believes it?
I can't even believe it.
Pretending to be stupid?
"Haha..."
"In that case, I'll go up there."
Chaos Ancient Clan In the formation, a figure stood up slowly.
It was a giant man with the head of a wolf and the body of a man.
His head is a complete wolf head, with gray-brown fur covering the entire skull.
There is an old scar in the middle of the forehead that extends from the bridge of the nose to the top of the head. The fur at the scar no longer grows back, revealing a dark red flesh mark.
His ears were pointed and long, with a small piece missing from each tip, as if they had been bitten off by something.
His eyes were dark green, and his pupils were as erect as knives. A faint green light flashed through the depths of his pupils as he opened and closed them.
His muzzle is very long, and two rows of sharp teeth protrude from his lips, staggered up and down.
Each one is like a polished bone nail, with dark red minced meat residue embedded between the teeth.
His lower jaw is wide and powerful, and when he bites it, the two rows of sharp teeth make a dull clashing sound, like two pieces of flint hitting each other.
His body is nearly twice as tall as the ordinary Human Race, with broad shoulders and narrow waist, and bulging muscles.
The gray-brown fur extends from the wolf's head to the neck and shoulders. The fur gradually thins out on the chest, revealing the dark brown skin underneath.
The skin is covered with dense old wounds, including cuts from knives, stabs from spears, and Law Technique burns.
Each scar is covered with dark red flesh marks, like an old map that has been repeatedly torn up and re-glued.
His arms are thick and slender, gradually becoming slender below the elbows, and suddenly narrowing at the wrists.
But his hands are not human hands.
His hands are two huge wolf claws, and the backs of the claws are covered with short gray-brown hair.
At the tip of the claw are ten sharp black hooks that are half a foot long, each one glowing with a greasy cold light.
The fur on the back of the claws was worn bare, revealing the rough gray flesh underneath.
The skin and flesh were covered with fine cracks and dried blood scabs.
There was a crack with deep bone visible on the back of his left paw, and dark purple granulations rolled over the edges of the crack.
It was obviously an old wound that had been left a long time ago and had never fully healed.
He was wearing tattered armor stained with blood.
The armor is an extremely ancient system, consisting of dozens of metal pieces of different sizes connected in series with leather and iron rings.
Every piece of metal is covered with dense dents and scratches, and in some places there are even fist-sized holes penetrated by sharp objects.
The blood on the armor has dried up into a dark brown crust, layered on top of one another, from the collar to the waist.
Most of the hem of the armor has been broken into pieces, revealing the gray-brown fur underneath and the waist and abdomen covered with scars.
There is a half-broken arrowhead embedded in the shoulder armor. The arrowhead is rusty, but no one has pulled it out. It seems that the owner deliberately left it there as a souvenir.
The entire armor exudes a strong smell of rust and dried blood, which is so thick that one can't breathe.
He holds an ax in his right hand.
The ax handle was made of some kind of black hardwood, and its surface was soaked with sweat and blood until it was shiny black.
The ax face is wide and thick, and the blade is covered with dense gaps, like a row of broken teeth.
There is a bottomless crack on the back of the ax, and a dark red bone fragment is embedded in the crack.
There were several turns of rough hemp rope wrapped around the axe, and there were also a few strands of dry hair and scraps of skin hanging on the hemp rope.
It looked like the ax had cut too many things, and the edge was no longer sharp, but the thickness of the ax body left no doubt about the weight of the impact.
He walked up to Arena step by step, his dark green eyes locked on the clothed figure opposite.
His left shoulder sank slightly as he walked, his right paw gripped the ax handle tightly, his steps were heavy and steady, and each step carried a sense of rhythm that only a battle-hardened veteran could have.
"Chaos Ancient Clan, Lang Tu."