And in that brief moment, Logan had once again escaped from under their watch.
The Saint Seat Ninth Level was, to put it mildly, wearing a very ugly expression.
"Chase!"
He said through clenched teeth, brimming with a murderous aura.
The cultivator from Saint Seat Eighth Level beside him couldn't help but cast a reproachful glance in his direction.
He had said earlier that they should have cut the grass and removed the roots immediately, not waste time with so much idle talk; and yet they didn't listen, didn't listen, and now look what happened—the man had run off.
The Saint Seat Eighth Level was full of rage inside, but what a pity that his "brother" beside him had a cultivation level one layer higher; a difference of one level was like the difference between heaven and earth.
If your skills are inferior, they are inferior; naturally, the Saint Seat Eighth Level didn't dare say anything.