Chapter 126

124、Blind Man Village, Widow Village, Dead Son Village (4K)

All of this was too unbelievable—even Wang Yang himself, if he had come, would have been terrified, for when he first became a Dao Sovereign, his divine court was full, his Dao qi filled the sky, and his divine awareness had spread in all directions, perceiving heaven and earth—yet he had not sensed a single soul lurking in this gorge.

Li Feng considered it: he would be beside Zi Han, Hai Zi wouldn’t be far from him, and Fake Gold Tooth and Wealthy Uncle would sit at the main table. Many brothers disguised as waiters and Ni Feng Men members should pose no problem.

Li Feng walked back; at this moment, Zi Yi had already run to Li Feng’s side. “Brother Feng, how’s your shoulder?” Zi Yi’s eyes filled with tears as he stared at Li Feng’s bloody arm.

Xiao Tianyao also paused his steps, glanced at the sky, found nothing unusual, then continued forward, saying, “Go ask them—what are they looking at?” So many people staring at the sky at once must mean something.

Before Song Gang could reach the White Dragon Daoist, the Daoist flicked his finger—clang! Song Gang shot backward like a bullet and slammed into the wall.

His entire body was encased in armor, fully armed from head to toe. Han Long examined himself from top to bottom—he hadn’t seen this look on himself in a long time.

These words dripped with mockery and contempt, stoking Han Bingqian’s killing intent even further, as if he could not rest until he flayed Xiao Tian alive and ripped out his tendons.

Meng Niu’s analysis this time was correct; Li Feng praised her—but Li Feng said she hadn’t gotten it entirely right.

“Why’s it suddenly so cold? Like falling into an ice cave?” said a burly man.

The meaning of sword movement is the sword following the heart—merging sword intent with nature, drawing upon nature’s power to strike the enemy.

The one who would ultimately win must be among these two; others knew the outcome was sealed, so they all withdrew their attacks and left the arena.

Thus, no players on the forum claimed to have been taken by a nuclear weapon—most players seemed to have felt no real impact from the nuclear radiation.

Today’s weather was gloomy; thick clouds pressed low against the sky, and the cold wind whistled like a sharp blade slicing through the air.

In fact, the new world’s event to visit the Super Game Center had drawn little attention: with so many registered users and only 3,000 randomly selected, the odds were even lower than applying for a test account—no wonder players had no hope.

The pixel art style was utterly familiar, the login screen absurdly simple, and the nauseating requirement to name twenty games played every time entering the dev interface.

But if the homestead was small and the family had many children, this conflict could not be suppressed—it would inevitably explode.

Dozens of massive 8-meter-diameter shells flew toward the monster at sub-light speed, followed by dozens of thick, pale purple energy beams—these were TPC’s fixed anti-space weapons.

“Wait—could you first answer a few questions, so we may feel at ease before the selection?” Hou Yan was still good with words; under uncertain circumstances, he preferred not to provoke the other side.

“I ask you—why are you doing something so shameful? Who is this man?” Could this person’s eyes be broken, mistaking her for his wife?

But Mo Yao’s actions today were nothing like those of a proper “rival.”

Outsiders might not understand: if you’re short on money, why retire early? Early retirement demands massive breach penalties—wouldn’t that just make things worse?

Mao Leyan walked to the Eight Immortals table, picked up the cup she had drunk from, scraped the blood along its rim with her fingers, then rubbed it between two fingers, and mused, “Cat’s blood.” Cat’s blood is yin—perfect for treating zombie internal injuries. She must be wounded.

In Qinggang City, dawn had not broken. Though behind enemy lines, carelessness was unacceptable—only five hundred soldiers guarded such a vital city.

But the power of that suona had surpassed the absolute limit of a natural disaster—it had merely been the residual waves of its sound that nearly killed them, let alone facing the suona head-on.

Wang Yue’s wounds grew worse; his blood loss had quietly reached nearly a third of his total blood volume.

The feeling of gaining fans was wonderful—floating, euphoric, convinced you could accomplish anything, nothing was impossible—but when you woke up, you realized it was all illusion, all deceit.

Ten years? That’s just since Long Shaoyan moved in—why ten years? Especially for a tonic.

“Although we didn’t secure passage rights to the Hell King’s Palace, I’ve already negotiated with Lord Egar—he’s granted you special permission to leave the Gods’ Peninsula early. Pack your things; we’ll head to the airport shortly,” Lu Kas said.

After she licked the plate clean, she flew to a dish of seasonings, smeared a bit on her finger, tasted it, frowned at how bad it was, then kicked the seasoning dish away with her foot.

But now, that slow-rising unease in her heart—the fear, the loneliness, the helplessness—was slowly devouring the little security she still had, the warmth and safety she’d barely managed to gain from that person.

Yi Xia naturally saw the shock in his eyes—she’d done it on purpose, to make an example of one to warn a hundred, a trick she’d learned from Chen Fangping. Now, seeing Er Gouzi’s nearly white face, she felt deeply satisfied.