Everyone stopped fighting, and all eyes fell on him.
A Soul King had punched a seven-ringed Red-Robed Bishop to death in full view of everyone.
Erich stood beneath the stone steps, the smile long gone from his face.
He stared at Wu Changkong and asked, "You... what kind of monster are you?"
"An ordinary Soul Master."
"The next one to die will be you."
Erich's throat went dry, but he forced himself to say, "Since Carlos is already dead, let this matter... end here. We'll withdraw immediately."
As he spoke, he slowly backed away.
This fat man looked honest and harmless, but he was shrewder than anyone.
Carlos had been stronger than him, yet he had still been punched straight through. If he stepped up, he likely would not fare any better.
"Did I say I'd let this matter pass?" Wu Changkong snorted coldly.
"What do you want, then?"
"What do I want?" Wu Changkong slowly raised his sword. "Of course, death."
"Don't be too arrogant! We're from Spirit Hall!" the deputy Bishop roared, fierce on the outside but weak within.
"I knew from the start that you were from Spirit Hall."
"So what?"
To him, no matter how frightening Spirit Hall was, could it be more terrifying than the Holy Spirit Cult or the Abyssal Plane?
He had even dared to perish together with a emperor. Why would he fear a few red-robed men?
If he truly could not win, he could simply take his father and leave first, finding somewhere to lie low.
When he returned again, it would be time to settle the score.
Seeing this, Erich was completely enraged.
"You forced my hand, brat."
With a low roar, he released his Martial Soul.
A layer of thick, iron-blue hide bulged from his body, as though he