That moment seemed to become eternity.
The scene froze just like that.
A blood-drenched man stood atop the tower, blood streaming down his entire body.
Hundreds of armored commanders dared not move, their faces stricken with extraordinary terror.
Wang Ziteng in particular saw his memories flash through his mind, frame by frame. He saw the little bastard in swaddling clothes, the cowardly, useless concubine-born son trailing behind that wretched woman Zhao, the brute in a silver-white Flying Fish Uniform who had dared challenge the Nine Gates Commander.
Finally, he looked at the blood-drenched man.
Jia Huan gazed coldly down at him.
"Run?"
"Where would you run?"
As the words fell, he plunged downward, his voice chilling.
"Die, or kneel!!"
A godlike aura locked onto dozens of Martial Arts Titans. Their expressions froze. The gulf between them was like that between a firefly and the radiant moon. Forget resisting-even another glance might cost them their lives.
Only seven warriors rallied and raised their fists. The rest fell to their knees, one after another.
Jia Huan surveyed them with disdain. A murky gray cage descended, crushing the seven into pulp before the powerful inner qi gathered in their palms could strike.
Then he swept out a palm, whipping up a howling hurricane. The Prince of Beijing, the Prince of Xining, Niu Jizong, and the others slammed into the wall, bones breaking and blood pouring out.
Only two men remained standing.
Jia Huan.
Wang Ziteng.
Uncle and nephew, according to the rites of kinship.
Wang Ziteng's blood all but froze. His entire body shook violently. He dared not look this brute in the eye and could only lower his head, staring fixedly at the polished breastplate of his armor.
"Very frightened?" Jia Huan asked with a smile.
Wang Ziteng's face was deathly pale.