Yang Jian's attack had been far too fierce. The strange man covered from head to toe in black ink had been pierced through the head by a red spear and nailed firmly to the ground. He lay completely still, having lost the ability to move.
Perhaps this strange man had been terrifyingly powerful, or perhaps he had nearly killed Lin Bei through a consciousness attack, but none of that mattered anymore.
Coffin nails were utterly unreasonable. Even a captain would be suppressed into immobility if nailed down by one.
Moreover, Yang Jian's attack had not merely been a coffin nail attack. Various supernatural forces had been layered together, sealing off all of the opponent's actions. Otherwise, there was no way the opponent would have been taken out so easily.
"This person is far weaker than the manor owner. Sure enough, the kings vary in strength too."
That thought surfaced in Yang Jian's mind after he succeeded, but he had no time to dwell on it. A powerful sense of danger had enveloped his entire body.
The old man holding up a withered arm had set his sights on Yang Jian and seized this opportunity to unleash his most terrifying supernatural attack.
The old man slowly lowered that withered arm.
At first, Yang Jian had not understood the meaning of that action. But now he did. The old man had kept that withered arm raised not because he wanted to maintain that pose, but because, at some unknown point, an old coffin had been placed on his raised arm. The coffin was battered and worn, as though it might fall apart at any moment. Even its black paint had peeled away in patches.
The black-painted coffin was not large, and its outline was blurry. Yet as the old man slowly lowered