As Jacob and Waylon were the only two people around, the latter did not beat around the bush.
"Your Demonic Cultivation has no effect on me anymore. If this is your trump card, you're doomed," Jacob coldly told him.
"Let's see, then!"
Waylon fumed. Then, his hands swiftly moved in the air, and the black mist began swirling rapidly like rushing horses.
Soon, the black mist transformed into a ferocious beast, and it bared its fang and howled.
All of a sudden, a drop of blood essence floated out from the mark on Waylon's chest. It then drifted toward the spot between the beast's eyes and sunk under its skin.
"Jacob, you've underestimated the art of Demonic Cultivation. If the art of Demonic Cultivation is that lousy, why would I even waste time cultivating it?"
As Waylon spoke, he moved his finger. The beast roared and instantly lunged toward Jacob.
