The Moon Clan and the Lost Soul Clan had scarcely ever dealt with one another.
Yet Yue Qiubai's words brimmed with astonishing confidence—not only confidence in himself, but also in his clansmen.
A hundred thousand years ago, the Moon Clan had ranked among the foremost races on the Myriad Races List. After the Calamity Transformation, many powerful bloodlines had also been born within the Moon Clan.
They had once campaigned against many races, and their own bloodlines and talents had displayed heaven-shaking advantages. Naturally, they did not take the Martial Artists before them seriously.
Wang Jingchen was intimidated by Yue Qiubai's words. If they were merely gambling his own Desolate Points, he had nothing to fear. Even if he lost, he could simply pretend he had never stepped onto the Ancient Desolate Divine King Arena.
But the other side had declared that they would gamble all of their Desolate Points. Winning would be fine, but if they lost, all the Desolate Points of their thirty-five people would have to be handed over to the Moon Clan.
"Hahahaha!"
Seeing that Wang Jingchen had been frightened, Yue Qiubai laughed loudly. "Before the fight has even begun, fear is already written across your face. What right does a person like you have to battle on the Ancient Desolate Divine King Arena? A hundred thousand years ago, those who could step onto the Ancient Desolate Divine King Arena were all the cream of the Myriad Races!"
Wang Jingchen's expression darkened, yet he could not refute him.
The cold and stern man named Yue Zifeng also wore a proud expression.
"Heh, using thirty-five million Mid-grade Spirit Stones to exchange for the Ancient Desolate Divine King Arena qualifications of our thirty-five people—you really have a fine scheme. Why not use the Desolate Points in your hands