"Bang!"
The instant his head struck the Jin Kela on the plate, his entire skull split open like a rotten watermelon, scattering red and white across the floor.
An Dongsheng was a duke, after all. Seeing him killed just like that sent a wave of grief through the powerful nobles present, like foxes mourning a dead rabbit.
At that moment, they suddenly realized that no friendly visitor would come like this, and this visitor was anything but friendly. Yang Ming had not come to negotiate with them at all—he had come to kill them!
Faced with this situation, did they dare fight?
They did not.
Yang Ming's past achievements were far too terrifying. He had killed Qian Daoliu, a god among men, and subdued the Star Luo Empire single-handedly. In the distant past, such feats would have earned him worship as a deity.
Not one person present dared thump his chest and guarantee that he could survive even a few seconds if they fought.
Their answer, then, was easy enough to imagine.
Rustle!
Perhaps their minds were in perfect accord, or perhaps the instinct for survival had long since been carved into these nobles' and magnates' bones. The next instant, they knelt without the slightest hesitation. A glance across the mansion's vast hall revealed a dense sea of kneeling figures.
Whether they were ministers whose influence dominated court and country, magnates controlling the arteries of land and water transport, or members of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan who ruled the local region, there was no distinction between them at that moment.
Resting his cheek in one hand, Yang Ming remained seated on his stool without any intention of rising. His eyes narrowed slightly, his piercing gaze sweeping down over the assembled dignitaries through those slender slits. A sense of