The banquet hall was suffocating, the atmosphere as rigid as iron.
From the moment Xue An arrived until now, the King of Jing Country was dead, the State Preceptor Qing Mo was dead, and even the deities he worshipped had been slaughtered clean by Xue An.
Now, apart from the trembling and ashen-faced dignitaries of Jing Country huddling together,
there remained only the dozen or so still floating midair, enduring an upgraded version of hell's torment.
The wounds on these dozen individuals had ceased bleeding, as they had nearly run out of blood to spill.
But because of their robust bodies, death hadn't yet claimed them.
Yet, at this very moment, they yearned for death like never before.
To most people, mere seconds might be fleeting, but for them, each passing moment was an eternity of agony.
If it hadn't been for Xue An's deliberate intervention, their spirits would have long since collapsed and perished.
But Xue An felt no sympathy for them.
