A powerful voice rang out from the main hall. As it fell silent, a middle-aged man appeared there, bearing an almost exact resemblance to the Soul Grandmaster who had stopped Tang San and the others at the entrance.
Dressed in white robes, he stood ramrod straight, his gaze sharp and intensely aggressive.
A smile of assured victory curled his lips as he looked down at Zhao Wuji and the members of the Wind Wolf Squad.
"That one before had only just reached level seventy. He hadn't even formed his Martial Soul Avatar yet. How could he compare with the Immovable Wisdom King? Easy for you to talk when your back isn't the one aching," Bai Feng snapped.
"My back certainly doesn't ache."
The Black Wind Stronghold Chief spoke lightly, with an air of arrogance and disdain.
"What? You think adding another level sixty-nine Soul King will let you beat me?" Zhao Wuji's voice remained scornful, but his taut body and clenched fists betrayed his current tension.
After all, he was nowhere near his peak condition. The Wind Wolf Squad had pelted him with poisonous powder for so long, and that female Soul Ancestor had stabbed him.
Even now, the wound on his shoulder showed no sign of healing. With his physique, that should have been utterly impossible. This was probably a special effect of that female Soul Ancestor's Martial Soul.
"Against you, of course this alone will suffice." The Black Wind Stronghold Chief waved a hand, and eerie white patterns lit up across the ground throughout Black Wind Stronghold. The corpse of the Soul Master Zhao Wuji had just slapped to death instantly shriveled, its blood flowing into the patterns on the ground and tingeing the white light with blood.
The patterns slowly spread outward, absorbing blood from the corpses