His true body had actually cultivated that incomparably tyrannical demonic art? That also meant he would be implicated—he had to cultivate it as well.
One day, he too would become a monster that knew only Bloodthirst.
"This..."
Xiaoyao wore a bitter smile. Sitting at home, yet a pot had fallen from the sky onto his head.
"Still, this choice suits the current moment perfectly. Who cares what cultivation art I practice? Who cares what happens to me? This world is one where fists do the talking. In the future, call me a demon if you want, call me cruel if you must. As long as I grow stronger, then my words will be the truth."
Xiaoyao slowly raised a hand and looked at the boundless snow overhead. His gaze gradually turned resolute. It seemed he needed to improve his cultivation considerably as well.
With that, Xiaoyao's figure slowly vanished into the vast snowfall.
The two truly had been cast from the same mold; even their personalities were much alike.
In the blink of an eye, ten days passed. On this day, Ye Lin slowly opened his eyes and looked toward the cave entrance. Before it, Shang Gong was walking slowly toward Ye Lin with a blood-red mask in hand.
"Sect Master Ye, it has been completed. This mask has lived up to expectations—it has reached Heaven Grade Low Tier, and eighty-one divine inscriptions have been engraved within it."
"Half of these divine inscriptions are used to conceal one's aura, while the other half are used to imprint an aura."
Shang Gong wiped nonexistent sweat from his forehead as he spoke slowly. In order to forge this mask, nearly all the Artifact Race's upper echelon had joined forces. Carving eighty-one divine inscriptions into such limited space—one could imagine the difficulty involved.