"Boom!"
The blood-red pillar of light shattered the ceiling of Yi-3 Mine.
The thick liquid receded completely, and a burly figure stepped out.
His upper body was bare, his skin covered in dark golden dragon scales. Two sharp dragon horns protruded from the sides of his forehead. His pure golden slit pupils swept indifferently over this unfamiliar world.
He made no further move, yet the space around him was already collapsing beneath the pressure of his aura.
A great golden immortal!
Commander Mo's expression changed. He had assumed some old monster from the Ancient Era was sealed inside and had wanted to earn a favor while the other party was still weak from awakening. He had never expected the man's vitality to be even stronger than his own.
"Fellow Daoist, I am Mo, commander of the Seventh Battlefield..."
Commander Mo cupped his hands, but his voice cut off before he could finish.
The burly, dragon-horned man's gaze passed over Commander Mo and settled on the golden war chariot. More precisely, it settled on the nine black-scaled flood dragons pulling it.
The nine great golden immortal mounts, normally so imposing, now trembled beneath those golden slit pupils. They lowered their enormous heads one after another, whimpering in terror.
The dragon-horned man's face darkened instantly.
"You use those of my dragon bloodline to pull your chariot?" His voice was hoarse, every word rumbling like thunder.
Commander Mo cursed inwardly. Damn it. With all the races fighting on the Myriad Worlds Battlefield, using demon beasts of other races to pull a chariot and show off was standard practice. Who could have expected to dig up a mighty dragon cultivator in this backwater?
"You misunderstand, fellow Daoist. These flood dragons aren't purebloods..." Commander Mo tried to explain.
"Die."
The dragon-horned man wasted no words.