The moment old friends met, the battle had already begun.
But combat at this level had long since returned to a state of simplicity and purity.
There was no need for punching and kicking.
No need for flashy moves either.
Nor was there any need for so-called roars and bellows.
In the night, a thick aura of death had already pervaded, and while the cemetery seemed intact, it was actually as fragile as a sandcastle in the wind, ready to disappear at any moment.
And Medanzo, who was in the cemetery, was even more enveloped in the endless aura of death, a terrifying force potent enough to corrupt millions in an instant, leaving not even bones behind.
It was like witnessing a thousand years in one glance.
Such a terrifying force was concentrated in Medanzo, yet he showed no signs of decay, and his fate did not entail much in the way of defence.
This situation suggested only one possibility.
Nobody knew why Medanzo had risked venturing into Sacred Mountain back in the day.
