Evil-Weaving Monk

"You've already guessed, haven't you?"

The True-Self Perfect One smiled without quite smiling. His gaze swept over the Looting Emperor's vital points, steadily piling on the pressure.

The Spirit King only smiled and said nothing. He still regarded the Looting Emperor with a kindly expression, neither denying nor confirming anything, as though none of it concerned him.

The Looting Emperor's heart gave a jolt. Things were heading in the worst possible direction.

He drew a deep breath. The white lines in his eyes gradually formed an X and began spinning at high speed. Fighting was out of the question; he had to find a chance to escape.

As for the Slaughter Lord, trapped here with him, he could no longer spare a thought.

The True-Self Perfect One saw what he was thinking but pretended otherwise. "Looks like you're ready. Let's begin!"

Suddenly, the Spirit King's body turned to flowing water. He slipped forward, his movements impossible to pin down, and struck first with a palm.

The Looting Emperor immediately raised his own palm to meet it. The instant their palms collided, he knew something was wrong. An immense force drove straight through his shoulder, and even the blood throughout his body fell under the blow's sway, burrowing madly toward his heart like dragons and snakes.

There were two ways to fight.

One aimed at destruction, spreading power across as wide an area as possible.

The other aimed to kill, concentrating every bit of strength at a single point to crush the target in one strike.

The Looting Emperor usually favored the first. There were few experts of his caliber in the Dream Realm, after all. Against most enemies, he only had to unleash sweeping, wide-area attacks to wipe them out with ease.

But now he faced the Spirit King and