Salt in the wound: Chthon flew into a rage!

Chthon stared daggers at Ren.

Ren didn't take him seriously at all.

"You're getting serious?"

"So all this time, you were just messing around with me?"

"Chthon."

"You've got a real attitude problem when it comes to fighting!"

"If you're going to fight, show me what you've really got! Get your ass in gear!"

Ren sounded utterly serious.

"You mother—"

Chthon nearly burst into curses.

What kind of freak was this human?

This was a fight to the death. Couldn't he take it seriously?

Chthon glanced at Ren.

The red glow in his eye sockets suddenly contracted.

Alarm bells blared in Ren's mind.

His body darted sideways on instinct.

A dark streak, almost invisible to the naked eye, shot past his side.

Its aura was viciously sinister.

Ren knew that even with his current physique, taking that sneak attack could leave him severely injured on the spot.

"Who would've thought the grand progenitor of black magic would resort to sneak attacks?"

"Have you got no shame?"

Ren's tone was calm.

He tried to throw Chthon off balance with his words.

When masters fought, attacking the mind came first.

"I'm the god of the underworld."

"What's so strange about a sneak attack?"

Chthon's voice was icy, and he seemed to have regained his composure.

Ren froze.

He actually found that perfectly reasonable.

For the first time, he understood what it meant to be at a loss for words.

The ancient god of the underworld, the founding father of black magic, had never been a decent fellow to begin with.

Underhanded attacks suited him perfectly.

Ren's expression grew serious.

He had met a tough opponent.

The old monster's shamelessness was certainly no less than his own!

His usual tactic of taking the moral high ground and berating people had hit a wall