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By the faint light it was possible to see that it was a pale-skinned young man with his face sallow as if from excessive debauchery.
He was wearing a burial shroud, and he panted heavily with his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Li Yanchu, who was hacking at the flesh-born monster.
His gaze was filled with boundless malice.
“Damn it! If Heaven and Earth truly reject me to this degree… I was only one step from completing the ritual!” the shroud-clad youth muttered, his voice impossibly hoarse and ancient.
His eyes were muddied and world-weary. It was not the look of a young man at all, but of a cunning, vicious old fiend.
He took a deep breath to steady himself, then hissed in hatred, “You slaughtered my Xinyi Dao disciples, ruined my sacrificial platform, and wrecked two generations’ worth of plans! I will slaughter everyone you love, destroy everything you care...
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