Braydon Neal raised his left hand slightly.
Swoosh!
In the vast sky, the wind howled.
A thousand meters of lightning streaked across the sky and appeared above everyone's heads.
There were nine bolts of drought lightning, each of which was a thousand meters long.
This was a pinnacle martial artist at the great success realm.
Braydon held the lightning in his hand. He was like a king in the mortal world. He stared coldly at the martial artist in the suit. "When have you, a martial artist from an aristocratic family, ever been the one to lecture me?" he said coldly.
"The martial artists of aristocratic families have blasphemed the king's might. Behead them!"
Braydon said coldly.
Channing Lestrange still had much to learn. Look at how the army commander was killing people.
Before killing, he had a good reason to do so and would not be used by others.
