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Neither man spoke. The air seemed to have congealed, and a heavy, sticky sense of oppression plastered itself against their chests, leaving them stifled.
Then there was that "Ancient Death Spiral Magic Formation," whose very name sounded like bad news. Chen Weizhe knitted his brows and began a line of calculations that grew more spine-chilling the further he pursued it.
"Didn't the Chen Clan pry that damned 'Ancient Death Spiral Magic Formation' out of the Crimson Church's hands? Supposedly, that sinister thing can fucking help people break through their bottlenecks..."
"Fuck! If that damned formation gets involved, the golden age limit we Soul Masters recognize for breaking through to Titled Douluo... could be forcibly pushed back by years!"
His throat was dry and raw. "That means the number of 'seeds' qualified to attempt the Titled Douluo threshold, with enough life left to do it-high-level Soul Douluos, in other words... is bound to fucking skyrocket!"
He slowly held up three fingers, then four. "Counting just the Crimson Church's eight regular legions... with everything they've accumulated over the years, their high-level Soul Douluos combined would number at least... thirty or forty, probably more!"
Zuo Tinggang swallowed audibly. He could already guess what old bastard Chen was about to say.
"And over these past years..." Chen Weizhe's brows tightened into a knot, his voice carrying a cold chain of logic. "The Crimson Church has abandoned its old habit of only making large-scale moves on the eve of a calamity. They've repeatedly acted early, stirring up trouble everywhere... We always thought they'd changed their strategy and were laying the groundwork for the coming calamity. Now it seems..."
"Fuck their grandmothers! Their deeper purpose was probably to gather massive quantities of potent blood