Shi Yunhao had repeatedly warned him not to provoke Song Yan unless necessary.
Whenever Zha Hong recalled that condescending expression, as though everything lay within his grasp, the suppressed brutality and defiance in his heart grew wildly.
That tone made it sound as though he were ordering him around.
He really thought he was somebody-
The Asura Path, the foremost lineage of the Demon Ruins?
No one had ever acknowledged that, had they?
Zha Hong sneered aloud.
I'll kill whoever I damn well please. Who is he to tell me what to do!
When I carry Song Yan's head before him, I wonder what his expression will look like?
"Hahaha-hahahaha-"
The more he thought about it, the more excited he became. He could not help throwing his head back in wild laughter, which sounded particularly chilling amid the deathly silence.
As he laughed uncontrollably, reveling in his delight, he suddenly sensed a gaze brimming with grief and fury.
"Hmm?"
Zha Hong's laughter stopped abruptly. He turned his head toward the shadows of the ruins.
The Sword Cultivator he had expected did not appear. Instead, a monk stood there.
He was tall, dressed in ordinary, exceedingly plain monastic robes.
It was Master Huitu of Floating Heart Temple.
At that moment, Huitu's eyes were fixed on the two bloody heads hanging from Zha Hong's Chain Blade.
The muscles of his round face were taut, veins faintly throbbing at his temples.
Beneath his immense fury lay an even fiercer grief.
"Benefactor Zheng-Benefactor Wang-"
Those two heads belonged to Zheng Guan of the Yingyang Zheng Shi and Wang Junmao of the Taiyuan Wang Shi.
Once Zha Hong saw who had come, the excitement that had just surfaced on his face instantly faded.
Disappointment and irritation took its place.
"Why is it a bald ass?