Of course, advancing his realm was the most important thing. That was the foundation, and Zhao Er would never put the cart before the horse.
As Wu Xing left to assist Wu Yao, Zhao Er returned to his elevated perch and watched the distant battlefield.
The surrounding toxins began gathering toward Zhao Er like mist.
Thud~ thud~~
As Zhao Er withdrew the toxins, a series of bodies hit the ground. The sounds came from those disciples below the Primordial Unity Realm.
These people had no resistance whatsoever to Zhao Er's toxins. Inner force was out of the question—they had not even cultivated any. With their qi-blood completely immobilized, they had even less hope of enduring Little White Marten's black poison mist as it ate away at their vitality.
Now that Zhao Er had withdrawn the toxins, they lay limp on the ground with blue-black faces, dead beyond all doubt.
These toxins really are a sharp weapon for clearing the field. It's just that releasing them this way is a little too slow. If I could release them faster, I wouldn't even need the cover of night...
He withdrew the toxins quickly, but Wu Yao's battle with the hall master ended even faster.
After arriving, Wu Xing did not attack. He simply stood beside the hall master, who had already been showing signs of defeat. Within a few moves, the master of the Tyrant Blade Martial Hall was slain by Wu Yao.
What a shame... They said not to leave anyone alive. Otherwise, my mine might have gained another batch of workers.
Of course, Zhao Er could only entertain that thought in silence.
As Steward Wu Yao's battle ended, a line of text appeared before Zhao Er's eyes.
Zhao Er did not inspect it, instead closing it directly. Experience had taught