Fang Hao felt his blood run cold.
Just moments after rejoicing at finding the core of the War Heaven Clan ruins, he was blocked at the entrance by an old ghost in the Nascent Soul Stage—and not just any ghost, but a veteran of the Netherworld Sect, known for being the most ruthless and skilled at manipulating souls!
What kind of Luck was this?
The gray-robed Cultivator stood at the stone entrance, seemingly blending into the surrounding shadows.
Only the two pale green ghost fires beneath his hood, like the tongues of venomous snakes, remained fixed on Fang Hao—or more accurately, locked onto the star evolution plate in his hand and the battle heaven axe fragments faintly radiating heat from his embrace.
"Kid, you're not slow to react."
The gray-robed Cultivator's voice sounded like rusty metal scraping, dry and grating, filled with the playfulness of a cat toying with a mouse.
