Servant of God

"You’re courting death!"

The youth’s eyebrows twitched, and he shot an icy glare, his lips curled in a mocking sneer.

A Xiantian cultivator attacking a King’s Realm cultivator?

Does he know how limited his strength is?

Is this some kind of a joke?

The self-proclaimed servant of a god laughed coldly, and a golden light began radiating from his body.

That light rapidly receded inwards, cloaking his body like a golden armour.

Then, he pointed with a finger towards Chu Yu’s incoming fist.

He was confident that a finger was more than sufficient to block the attack.

A deluded Xiantian Qi cultivator battling a King’s Realm cultivator — does Chu Yu not realise that the difference in power was simply too great?

This finger, a reflection of terrifying power, suppressed Chu Yu like an insurmountable mountain.

It was even more terrifying because there were no ripples of power throughout the tiny dining room.

This required a precise mastery over the level of one’s power.