Zhu Luo's words seemed very ordinary, but they were actually extremely unyielding and tyrannical. Every person there could clearly tell that the actual words were: ‘You would actually have the audacity to attack me?’
Wang Po's two legs did not move. His rolling of the sleeves and polishing of the blade were only preparations for battle. He had not yet attacked, but this was already enough to cause Zhu Luo's concealed fury to reach its peak, because it had been many years since there had been anyone who dared to attack him.
The Storms of the Eight Directions were almost gods, and any attempt to strike a god was to provoke, to blaspheme, to seek death. Even if it was just an attitude, it was still unacceptable, even coming from Wang Po of Tianliang.
The people on the street were also incredibly astonished. They didn't understand why Wang Po would do such a thing, robbing himself of any future opportunities.
