The voice of the Whale Hunter slowly dispersed.
But within it carried a solid murderous intent, the grievances spanning over ten years, those angers, hostilities, deceitful schemes, were about to draw to a complete conclusion.
And in a distant land.
The Whale Hunter's palm rested on the head of the last so-called protector of the Demon Sect, his silver hair cascading down, surrounded entirely by corpses and flesh, yet the man remained clean and unsoiled by the slightest dust.
The last protector of the Demon Sect still wanted to struggle and attack.
He grabbed a knife, intending to counterattack violently, but a foot descended, stamping on his wrist, crushing his hand and bones into a pulp, as the Whale Hunter's hair slightly floated.
Helian Fengling, the protector of the Demon Sect, spewed blood from his mouth and said: "Our Holy Sect..."
"Certainly."
The Whale Hunter replied, "is already dead."
