'The cause of death is the same for all of them. First, they were crushed by immense force, then they had their Blood Essence Qi drained until they died.'
'One person killed more than thirty disciples of my Yellow Springs Netherworld.'
'It seems the Holy Sect has produced a remarkable figure in this generation.'
A few hours after Qi Yun's party of three had left, a tall, slender man arrived, strolling onto the ravaged battlefield. He wore a wide-brimmed bamboo hat and a faded blue cloth jacket, and in his hand, he carried a long, old banner of white cloth.
He gave the long banner a gentle shake, and its surface fluttered without a wind.
The next moment, blurry, ethereal figures—remnant souls radiating faint resentment—began to emerge from the surrounding scorched earth and corpses. They were drawn by an unseen force, slowly gathering toward him.
"Senior Brother Zhao, you're finally here."
"That's right, Senior Brother Zhao, you have to avenge us!"
