The disciples watching from below the high platform had their eyes fixed on the tall, straight figure standing upon it.
Yang Jing's green robes were in tatters, strips of cloth hanging loosely and revealing several shallow, bloody scratches on his skin.
Warm wolf blood dripped from the hem of his clothing, splashing onto the green flagstones and blooming into small pools of crimson.
He still stood as straight as a spear, like a drawn sword bathed in wolf's blood. His handsome face and sharp eyes radiated a terrifying edge.
Everyone was deeply shaken by the domineering, savage scene, their hearts pounding with an indescribable thrill.
The plaza first fell into a dead silence. Even the sound of breathing seemed to grow faint.
A moment later, the suppressed emotions erupted. Thunderous cheers and cries of amazement suddenly rang out, rising and falling, echoing throughout the entire Dragon Gate Plaza.
