"True Martial Practitioners... weren't nearly as uncanny as these people claimed. Apart from their Qi and Blood indeed being different from ordinary people's, there was nothing exceptional about them. Could these people really rival Nascent Soul cultivators?"
White snow lay like an unfurled scroll, covering the entire land.
Beside a burning village.
Villagers covered in muddy water were pinned against the snow, their surging blood Qi heating the surrounding snow into streams that mixed with the frozen earth beneath into mud.
Their eyes were utterly red, their heads raised high, the veins in their necks like taut ropes.
Yet they could never break free of the invisible pressure from above.
They could not even make the slightest sound.
Above them, cultivators hovered expressionlessly in midair, their hands tucked into their sleeves.
Yang Que stood among them in dragon robes, his head slightly lowered. His gaze seemed to possess a magical power, seeing through every part of the burly men's bodies below.
But he could not conceal the disappointment in his eyes.
Beside him, the Golden-Haired Old Man was also staring at the burly men, though his expression held a trace of puzzlement.
Yang Que turned his head slightly, glanced at the Golden-Haired Old Man beside him, and said with little interest:
"It seems we're going to be disappointed... these so-called True Martial Practitioners probably aren't worth much."
The Golden-Haired Old Man hesitated, however, and said with a frown:
"Your Majesty, these True Martial Practitioners do indeed fall far short of cultivators, but the crucial point is that mortals can practice this without Spiritual Roots... if this True Martial Dao spreads throughout Emperor Pole Continent, it may shake the foundations of Great Sui."
"Shake its foundations?"
Yang Que paused slightly, unable to help laughing, before his expression abruptly turned cold:
"Even