The Blood-Weeping Ridge priest's formerly arrogant face looked as though someone had hit the freeze button.
His bloodshot eyes stared fixedly ahead.
What was he seeing?
That country refugee who had just been fleeing for his life with Kairils on his back, his clothes torn into strips.
He was now slowly straightening up.
And as he rose, the terrifying pressure of a second-tier powerhouse erupted from his body like a volcano, sweeping outward without restraint!
Dark gray ash swirled around him, forming currents visible to the naked eye!
"You... you're not a refugee!!"
The Blood-Weeping Ridge priest's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, his voice sounding as though an invisible hand had clamped around his throat.
What the hell was going on?!
Out in this godforsaken wilderness, some random refugee in ragged clothes he'd stumbled across was actually a second-tier powerhouse?
Was minimalist fashion all the rage in the Righteous Gods Faction these days?
So the person Kairils had desperately shoved away earlier was actually a terrifying monster?
Could Kairils have been looking out for me?
Afraid I'd disturb him?
Under the impact of that second-tier pressure, the pathetic sense of security the Blood-Weeping Ridge priest had gained by chugging a potion vanished instantly, replaced by the despair of plunging into an ice cellar.
Ma Lou slowly turned around.
He ignored the priest's shock and merely lowered his head to glance at Kairils, who still lay unconscious on the ground.
Then he looked back at the Cultist Old Codger before him, who still had a bloody hole in his chest and had barely managed to stand by forcing down a potion.
Ma Lou's face, usually sporting a sleazy grin, was now expressionless.
He licked his cracked lips, his tone tinged with cold mockery:
"You're pretty thoughtful, you old bastard."