West Sea, Corpse Pit, Appraisal Hall.
Ye Hanjun, wielding the Cross Thunder Sword, seemed like a saint ascending to immortality, his supreme dignity enveloping all directions.
Yet, he was clad in a complex black-and-red prison robe, with blood forming a carpet beneath his feet and ten Hells circling around him, exuding a brutal and ferocious aura, clearly defined as if by a dividing line.
"Thunder... Thunder attribute Holy Spirit?"
"Is it a Beast Soldier or an Origin Beast? Such strong traces of the element, thunder filling one's ears as if with the force of ten thousand pounds, I almost couldn't catch my breath..."
Masks, Shu Jie, Yishuo, Nie Qiubai... the elite heroes present were dumbfounded.
Among them, Guan Cunyan's face was particularly pale.
He had once provoked the Grey Sun, claiming its Guardian Saint Spirit was nothing to contend with and severely doubting whether Grey Sun's background was as noble as he had described.
