Tang Hao Descends

Both cheeks were symmetrical now, each bearing a swollen, crimson handprint.

His lips would not close, and saliva streaked with blood flowed uncontrollably from the corners of his mouth.

Fang Fan strode toward him at an unhurried pace, as composed as if he were taking a stroll through his backyard.

Tang San lay sprawled on the ground, struggling to prop himself up. His arms shook violently, whether from rage or weakness, no one knew.

He lifted his eyelids, and an icy, murderous glare shot from his swollen eye sockets as he let out a hoarse, broken, indistinct roar.

Fang Fan looked down at him, that lazy smile still resting on his lips.

He raised his right foot. The white boot swayed before Tang San's eyes, then came down.

The sole landed precisely on Tang San's still fairly handsome face, ruthlessly stomping his head into the grass and dirt.

His nose was crushed crooked to one side, blood spraying out and staining the tread of the boot.

His lips pressed against the soil as grass clippings and sand filled his mouth.

He struggled desperately, grabbing Fang Fan's ankle and trying to push it away, but that foot was like a mountain crushing his face, utterly unmoving.

Fang Fan ground his foot down. The sole rubbed back and forth across Tang San's face, his skin repeatedly scraped against rough sand and broken grass roots until it split open, blood mixing with mud as it seeped out.

That humiliation far surpassed the physical pain, like a red-hot branding iron searing Tang San's heart.

In the shadows.

Tang Hao stood beneath the shade of an old tree in a tattered black robe, his hand gripping the wine gourd suddenly tightening.

His knuckles cracked, and several fissures appeared across the hard surface of the gourd.

His other hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm and leaving dark red marks.

His murky eyes were now frighteningly bright, cold and intense killing intent surging within them without the slightest concealment.

That white-clothed youth had slapped his son in front of him, Tang Hao.

Then he had stepped on his son's face and ground it against the earth.

He had taken Tang San into hiding in Holy Soul Village under assumed names for twelve whole years.

He would rather be a despised blacksmith in a small village.

He had drowned himself in cheap liquor day and night just to keep his son safe.

Yet now, his son was being trampled beneath someone's foot in public, his face pressed against the mud like a snake pinned by its vital point, so miserable he could barely even struggle.

Tang Hao's face darkened like the sky before a storm. Black Soul Power aura spilled uncontrollably from his body.

The surrounding leaves rustled in the wind, and several crows fled in panic.

This boy had earned himself a death sentence.

Fang Fan stood with his foot on Tang San, the sole grinding against that mud- and blood-stained face, while the killing intent above his head grew so dense it was almost tangible.

Not only did he fail to look up, he ground down again, burying Tang San's face even deeper into the dirt.

"Boom—"

Dark red killing intent descended from the sky, blanketing the entire academy.

The air became thick and heavy, every breath like swallowing molten lava.

The clouds in the sky were blown apart, and sunlight shone through the dark red haze, dyeing the entire academy in apocalyptic hues.

Flender was counting the registration fees when the chair beneath him groaned. Its four legs sank into the floor, and his spine creaked.

He was nailed firmly to the chair, unable to move. Cold sweat rolled down his forehead and dripped onto the pile of Gold Soul Coins.

The pressure of a Titled Douluo—and one of the very strongest at that. Who had provoked a powerhouse of this level?

Zhao Wuji was squatting in the bathhouse, scrubbing his pants, when the killing intent descended and forced him directly to his knees, shattering two bluestone tiles beneath them.

The grassland was even more terrifying.

Dark red energy spread like thick blood mist, seeping into every pore and making their hearts pound, their minds panic, and cold sweat pour down their bodies.

Everyone's Soul Power circulation slowed and stagnated.

Fang Fan and Zhu Zhuqing bore the greatest pressure.

The killing intent was clearly aimed at Fang Fan.

Zhu Zhuqing was caught up in it because she stood closest to him.

An invisible giant hand pressed her toward the ground.

Her knees bent slightly, her calves trembled, and strain appeared on her normally cold face as she gritted her teeth.

At the moment she was about to kneel, Fang Fan moved. He tapped Tang San's face with his toes to push off and swept backward.

Heaven-Slaying Sword Intent began circulating on its own.

Unmatched, razor-sharp sword intent surged upward and forcibly cleaved open a gap in the killing intent.

He flashed in front of her, using his body to form a shield.

The pressure on Zhu Zhuqing lessened by more than half. She looked up to see Fang Fan's white robes snapping in the aftershocks of Soul Power.

Yet he stood perfectly straight, like a sword thrust between heaven and earth.

"Legendary Titled Douluo?"

Zhu Zhuqing's lips trembled slightly.

"Mm."

Fang Fan nodded.

"Beat up the little one, and the big one comes out."

A meaningful smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

If he had not drawn Du Busi, he truly would have feared Tang Hao. The Clear Sky Douluo was level ninety-five; even a starving camel was still bigger than a horse.

But things were different now. The level ninety-six Du Busi was hidden nearby.

Tang Hao's old injuries had yet to heal, leaving him with less than eighty percent of his combat strength. Fang Fan had been waiting for precisely this moment.

The dark red Soul Power was visibly thick, and the blades of grass flattened against the ground.

Ning Rongrong crossed her arms and tilted her head, curiously surveying the surroundings.

She had seen plenty of Titled Douluo in the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect.

Sword Grandpa and Bone Grandpa were both among them.

At this moment, she had not been crushed by the pressure.

Instead, she looked like a little princess watching a show, examining the source of the killing intent.

Then her gaze returned to Fang Fan.

There was not a trace of panic on the white-clothed youth's face.

That lazy curve still lingered at the corner of his eyes.

He even turned toward Zhu Zhuqing and opened his mouth.

"Wine."

Gritting her teeth, Zhu Zhuqing used her trembling hand to pull out the stopper and fed him another mouthful.

Ning Rongrong's curiosity deepened further. At only two years older than her, he was already a level fifty-three Soul King.

Two purple and three black, a heaven-defying Soul Ring configuration.

The Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect's intelligence network spanned the continent, yet she had never heard of this person.

A black figure slowly rose from beneath the shade of the tree.

The man in the tattered black robe had messy hair draped over his shoulders, a beard covering his face, and cold light flashing in his eyes beneath his bamboo hat.

He rose into the air.

Nine Soul Rings slowly rose from beneath his feet: two yellow, two purple, four black, and one red.

The final crimson Hundred-Thousand-Year Soul Ring radiated terrifying Soul Power capable of crushing everything.

Dark red lightning ravaged his body with explosive crackles.

The grass and trees instantly withered and charred.

Standing there, he was the eye of the storm, like a god of slaughter descending.

Dai Mubai had just crawled out of the latrine when the pressure of the Hundred-Thousand-Year Soul Ring smashed him back onto the ground.

His pupils widened to their limit, his body trembling violently like an ant pinned beneath a giant foot.

Tang San gripped the grass roots tightly with both hands, his nails buried in the mud. His body trembled even harder, not from fear, but from humiliation and rage.

A Titled Douluo—he did not even have the right to look up at one now.

Yet the drunkard who had stepped on his face was actually confronting such an existence without changing expression.

Xiao Wu's heartbeat accelerated madly, her face turning pale.

A transformed Hundred-Thousand-Year Soul Beast was very likely to be exposed before a Titled Douluo. She tried to retreat, but even moving her feet was difficult.

Tang Hao was somewhat surprised as well.

His Divine Slaughter's Domain was fully unleashed, and the pressure of a Titled Douluo poured forth without restraint.

Flender had knelt. Zhao Wuji had knelt. The two Soul Sages could not even stand.

Yet that white-clothed youth stood upright with unbent knees. He still had the strength to shield the girl in black, and even opened his mouth to ask for wine.

Tang Hao narrowed his eyes, a trace of scrutiny flashing within them. At last, he spoke, his voice low and hoarse with the roughness of a drunkard.

"Boy, you're courting death."

His tone was calm, like a judge pronouncing a death sentence. That tranquil killing intent was more terrifying than any roar.

"Boy, you're pretty arrogant."

Another voice suddenly exploded through the air.

It was older and more domineering.

It carried the disdain of someone looking down from above, along with the authority of one long accustomed to power.

Every word was like a heavy hammer striking the heart, making the air tremble.

A dark green figure stepped out of the void.

The old man's hair and beard were entirely white, yet his body was so burly that he did not look his age. The muscles beneath his robes were sharply defined, while his silver-white hair and beard carried a strange metallic sheen.

Most eye-catching were his eyes, burning with dark green soul fire, astonishingly bright.