Meng Hao gave a cold snort, which echoed out like a clap of thunder. The sound pierced to the very hearts of the four remaining black-robed men. The three who were currently approaching suddenly stopped in their tracks. The man who had just employed the blood mist felt as if his mind was spinning out of control.
Meng Hao’s right knee flew into the air, slamming viciously into the blood mist. It immediately fell into pieces and scattered. His knee continued on, slamming into the black-robed man’s chest. Even as the cracking of bones rang out, Meng Hao’s right hand snaked out to latch onto the man’s neck.
He turned, and spit out the lightning mist, and a boom filled the air as it enveloped them all. Screams rang out, and after the space of a few breaths, Meng Hao emerged from within. The three men who had just been approaching were now dead, their eyes still wide with astonishment. Even up to the moment death took them, they couldn’t understand how an alchemist… could have such intense killing intent.
Originally there had been twenty seven black robed men. In just a few moments, their numbers were reduced to eleven. Their minds were shaken, and they backed up nervously. The person in front of them didn’t seem to be a single Cultivator, but an entire army.
Meng Hao’s hair swirled around his head. The dozen or so tentacles writhed in the air around him bizarrely as he stood there. He emanated the smell of medicinal pills, and the stench of blood. His cold face, his grim eyes, all of it, caused the black-robed men’s heart to shake.
“Who are you?!” asked one of the black-robed men, his voice quivering. It was a question that Meng Hao should have been the one to ask.
Meng Hao didn’t respond. His clothes fluttered in the wind. It was a north wind, blowing stiffly, as if it wished to wash away the reeking smell of blood. As the north wind blew, Meng Hao lifted his hand. There in his palm appeared a bit of red powder.
The powder lifted up into the wind, blowing about. The faces of the black-robed men twisted as they thought back to the hyper toxic poison from moments ago.
Without the slightest hesitation, the eleven men retreated. However, even as they did, Meng Hao made an incantation gesture and then pointed out with his finger. A mass of tiny Flame Globes appeared. As they floated in mid-air, they began to change into a green color.
The ignited, and suddenly a massive, green Flame Sea appeared. It was shocking, its heat impossible to describe as it expanded along with the wind, seeming to mix with the powder that was floating in mid-air.
The raging three thousand meter wide Flame Sea expanded out, and as it did, it seemed as if the surrounding valley couldn’t withstand the heat. It began to crack and melt.
The eleven black-robed men were moving backward quickly, but they simply weren’t fast enough to escape the ghostly, greenish Flame Sea, and were consumed.
It was at this same moment that a boom could be heard off in the distance. With a single blow, the azure-masked Cultivator lopped off the head of the Golden Frost Sect Cultivator. Then he turned, a grim look appeared in his eyes as he looked at Meng Hao, just barely visible behind the Flame Sea
Separated by the Flame Sea, Meng Hao looked back at the azure-masked Cultivator. Their gazes locked as the screams of the dying black-robed Cultivators drifted up from within the flames.
Glancing at Meng Hao’s clothing, the azure-masked Cultivator said, “Such a young East Pill Division Furnace Lord. There’s only one person like that…. You must be Fang Mu!” His voice was hoarse and muffled, yet filled with coldness.
“Cultivators with killing intent like this can only be found in one place in the Southern Domain,” replied Meng Hao coolly. “The Black Lands.” Actually, from the moment he had first laid eyes on the black-robed Cultivators, something about them had seemed familiar. It was the same feeling he’d gotten from that Cultivator in the Black Sieve Sect’s Blessed Land, the one who had told him about the usefulness of the Thunderclap Leaf to Black Lands Cultivators.