This wasn’t arrogance.
Between his buffs, bloodline, elemental spirits, and the countless body-enhancing potions he’d consumed, Ye Zhongming’s physical stats bordered on transcendent.
His Clear Body—a passive from the Thousand Blade Saint—boosted defense and recovery. Celestial Body, a rare constitution, enhanced nearly every attribute.
Wielding the purple-grade Undead Sand Moon Blade, tempered by the Weapon Nurturing skill, Ye Zhongming could clash with anyone.
Tong Lu clearly hadn’t expected this response.
The fusion ability—Soul Bond—was the God Hall’s crowning achievement. In the face of Cloud Peak’s famed gene warriors, the God Hall believed this technology represented humanity’s pinnacle.
It was a symbiotic enhancement for both evolved and beast, built on advanced gene-editing and cross-species compatibility—far superior, in their eyes, to Cloud Peak’s crude modifications.
The transformation was jarring. Most opponents, unfamiliar with it, would retreat. Tong Lu assumed Ye Zhongming would do the same.
But Tong Lu wasn’t afraid either. He’d long despised the so-called King of Cloud Peak, thirsting for revenge since Cloud Peak’s raid on God Hall’s outpost.
Behind him, a spectral projection of the tiger emerged—only its head replaced by Tong Lu’s own.
The grotesque apparition lasted an instant before detaching and hurtling toward Ye Zhongming’s blade light.
The collision produced no deafening crash, no blood spray—just a space distortion as energies clashed.
The blade light hesitated, then sheared through the tiger’s shadow.
Tong Lu screeched, his and the Nether Tiger’s claws slashing to intercept the remaining energy.
This wasn’t a simple swipe—it was a skill. Their claws gleamed, leaving afterimages in the air.
Thud.
The half-man, half-tiger hybrid crashed to the ground, rolling once before regaining footing.
Shallow wounds marred Tong Lu’s head and chest, the Nether Tiger’s forehead similarly split. Blood seeped.
Tong Lu’s right hand was unscathed, but his left claws had been sheared off. The Nether Tiger fared worse—both forepaws were half-severed, leaving it whimpering in agony.
A single strike had crippled the God Hall’s elite duo.
Ye Zhongming stepped forward—only to sidestep abruptly as a bolt of cold light grazed his previous position.
A glance uphill revealed Vice-Chairman Yang, now wielding an ornate crossbow.
The Soul Merchant’s deputy had arrived.
He knew letting Ye Zhongming kill Tong Lu would mean losing his trail for good.
Now, Vice-Chairman Yang fought desperately—shooting bolts while charging downhill, simultaneously hurling objects from his spatial storage.
White spheres, resembling golf balls, bounced erratically in his wake. With each bounce, they expanded. By the time Yang reached the battlefield, they’d grown to over 1.5 meters in diameter.
Ye Zhongming had tried to finish Tong Lu, but the man proved slippery. Even under gravity field suppression, a surprise skill and defensive equipment barely kept him alive until reinforcements arrived.
The entire exchange had lasted mere seconds. Dodging bolts while launching two attacks was already impressive from Ye Zhongming.
On reaching the fray, Vice-Chairman Yang roared. His skin turned corpse-blue, a stench of rot filling the air as he transformed into a fanged revenant—his Stiff Corpse job.
With a wave, two thick green mist streams enveloped him—Corpse Toxin Armor, a passive defense skill.
Against Ye Zhongming, survival took priority over victory.
The enlarged spheres now burst, releasing clusters of floating eyeballs—five per sphere, dozens in total. These eyes instantly covered the area around.
The eyes swiveled, locking onto Ye Zhongming before firing pale beams. Despite his speed, several connected.
The beams carried no damage, only a potent slowing effect—one even Ye Zhongming couldn’t resist.
Seizing the chance, Vice-Chairman Yang regrouped with Tong Lü.
“Can you fight?”
“Have to. Four minutes left till the deadline.”
Their exchange was frantic, interspersed with ranged attacks against the slowed Ye Zhongming.
From Tong Lu’s arrival to now, barely a minute had passed. His defeat came too swiftly—without Yang’s intervention, he’d be dead.
The God Hall warrior, once dismissive of Ye Zhongming’s reputation, now understood the insurmountable gap.
But… how could they last four minutes against such overwhelming odds?
“Use everything. If we can’t hold, we retreat—regardless of the timer.”
Vice-Chairman Yang refused to believe failure would cost their lives.
Tong Lu nodded. Ye Zhongming, though slowed, had begun systematically destroying the eyeballs—one strike each. In the seconds they’d spoken, half were already gone.
Tong Lu produced a jade bowl from his space storage, his expression pained, before he hurled it forward.
The bowl inverted midair, descending toward Ye Zhongming as golden light erupted from its surface.
A gold-grade equipment.
Not to be outdone, Vice-Chairman Yang’s abdomen convulsed violently. His jaw distended grotesquely as he vomited—each heave birthing a 50-centimeter-tall green zombie.
To stall Ye Zhongming, both elites had gone all out.