Hearing this shocking truth, the devil cultivator couldn't accept it and wanted to say something in protest, but a vicious spear shot out of the shadows and straight into his head, bursting it open like a rotten watermelon.
Fang Yang wasn't lying to that man in his last moments.
He really had no foresight or grand scheme behind the poisoning of his fellow disciples. After all, he wasn't God, so how could he see the future?
Ever since the time he had been forced to roll around in the dirt and cold like a rat under the chase of the devil cultivators, Fang Yang had sworn to never live life like that again and he would gain strength by any means.
There was no grander purpose to poisoning his fellow disciples than this.
He could kill them and gain their resources.
With this new wave of fat, he would be able to strengthen his Battle Saint Corpse puppet and strengthen himself.
