And the deaths were strange, cruel, without warning, utterly unpredictable.
On the Saint Heir's face, there was no longer any arrogance or indifference, only endless fear.
"I... I am the Saint Heir... you can't kill me!"
"Please, not Planting Devil in Taoist Heart!"
"Don't plant the devil!"
"I don't want to become something neither human nor ghost!"
But Gui Tao's people simply didn't listen. Within a few steps, they had approached the Saint Heir, and a pair of slender, pale hands smeared with blood slowly stretched towards him.
The Saint Heir felt as if his liver and gallbladder were splitting. He racked his brains, desperately begging for his life:
"Please, don't kill me!"
"I am the Saint Heir, I might become the Demon Monarch in the future!"
"My father is the master of the Ghost King Sect, my mother is the Blood Jade Rakshasa..."
...
But these words couldn't stop Gui Tao's people.
