The foremost figure of the Northern Plains demonic path, the renowned Six-Finger Old Devil, stood with eleven Nascent Soul True Lords of the Northern Plains demonic path and hundreds of thousands of disciples at the Golden Core, Foundation Establishment, and Qi Refining stages.
Together, they knelt three times and kowtowed nine times to a young man in azure, paying him the highest respects. They called themselves lowly people and vowed to go through fire and water for him without hesitation.
Such reverence. Such humility.
Their kowtows rang out in unison like a mountain roaring and a sea surging. Their praises brimmed with loyalty.
Han Lin drew a deep breath.
He considered himself a man of steadfast conviction. From the son of a herb gatherer at the Seven Profound Sect in the mortal lands of the Yue Kingdom, he had risen to the rank of True Lord. Wealth and splendor, beauties who could topple kingdoms, and power meant nothing to him. He had always seen them as passing clouds.
But now, with the leader of the Northern Plains demonic path and his entire sect—hundreds of thousands of cultivators, including many True Lords—bowing their heads, the spectacle intoxicated him for an instant. His heart churned like rivers overturning and seas tumbling.
Silence fell.
There was no response, so none of the Six Paths Sect cultivators dared speak again. Hundreds of thousands stood utterly quiet.
No one knew how long passed.
"You twelve, open your souls."
After a moment's thought, Jiang Ding spoke calmly.
He was not swept up by this power that towered to the heavens, nor did he develop ambitions to rule the world. He showed no disgust, hatred, or triumphant satisfaction after his victory.
The True Lords trembled.
Open their souls.
To open their souls was to allow a soul