Chapter 582: The Demon Den

"Black Little Sister" sensed two figures in the rapids, but only one was visible now.

A dwarf three feet tall.

His head nearly filled half a foot—long and triangular, aged over fifty, with two wisps of beard, no neck, his body thin as dry sticks, legs short and slender, arms unusually long, reaching down to his ankles.

This deformed dwarf held a red tasselled spear fifteen feet long.

The shaft was as thick as a bowl's mouth, the spearhead broad.

Meanwhile, Wales was completely sprawled on Dog's back, trembling uncontrollably, fear glittering in his eyes, robbing him of the courage to lift his head.

At the same time, Rain Master Fei flicked her slender hand; the Witch God Army, long prepared, fell utterly silent—cold, heartless—and in an instant formed their battle array, launching their assault.

He had imagined countless times what his fate would be if he failed—grim and wretched—and how he longed for his enemy to grant him a dignified end, at least to be buried beside his family, so they wouldn't be haunted by him forever.

Each strike of Lagu's Apocalypse Oracle carried the destructive power of a nuclear bomb; left unchecked, Lagu could destroy the entire world within a day.

"Let them come then! It's not the first time!" Guo Zairong sat on the sofa, reading the newspaper, removing his glasses; though he spoke this way, he couldn't hide the faint joy in his voice.

"Alright! Just kidding!" Yue Yingfeng, seeing Lit and the others like this, quickly waved his hand. "Sit down! Have some drinks!" Yue Yingfeng sat first, handing out cans of cola to Han Geng and the others.

His family was one of the Four Great Clans of the Aivela Kingdom, a noble house ranked alongside the Aivela royal family.

The moment Liao Chaoyang refused, Wei Yuankui resolved to make him pay first, then wait for the other side to compromise.

Wang Pengyu looked at the old Daoist with slight surprise—he hadn't expected the man to recognize his needle technique at a glance; from this alone, it was clear his medical skill surpassed Zhang Santai's.

This return to Luojin Valley took considerably longer, as they spent time mapping a route, observing the Half-Beast Army's movements in preparation for the upcoming "cleansing" operation.

Though she believed she could escape from Yelan, it would still be a troublesome affair.

"Zhonghua, won't you still call me Father Emperor?" The Southern Qian Emperor cried out in pain, watching the figure depart without looking back.

There was overlap, but not to that extent—Xiu Yuntian was capricious, but he was the Crown Prince, and he knew he was the Crown Prince.

Zhang Lin had organized such gatherings many times; after Lin Yuan'ai's release from prison, Zhang Lin had invited him before—but this was the first time Lin Yuan'ai had come.

Yes—that exact gaze. That night, she had looked at him just like this: cold, utterly devoid of warmth. Her white hair felt like slaps across his face. Chu Hanxuan's temple veins bulged. He could accept Rong Qian as Jun Wuyan—but he could not accept Rong Qian as the White-Haired Ice Empress.

"You let Chu know you exist, but not me," a certain man frowned, accusing.

After finishing his report, No. 1 felt restless—he couldn't stop thinking about No. 9, that mysterious fellow who claimed he had a surprise for him. What could it be? It was like a cat's claw scratching inside his mind.

Especially now, with her awkward status—no spiritual power, yet inside Spirit Beast City; married to Prince Jin, nearly dragged through the streets as a public spectacle; a waste from Luofan Valley, the Prince's despised wife—hardly anyone would spare her from bullying.

A strange tension rose instantly from Lin Shenshen's soles; she pressed her lips together and instinctively stepped back.

Bai Qixia had also been frightened by yesterday's events, so she said nothing, sitting on the living room sofa, while Luo Beichen, in his pajamas, peered through the peephole.