Mystic Darkness's eyes, filled with a benevolent sadness, surveyed the surroundings, the wind blowing against his broad body, like a statue standing tall.
He looked at the thousands of kneeling members of the Witch Tribe below him and finally said, "Back then, our Witch Tribe brought upon itself a killing disaster due to cruelty, and now you still haven't learned your lesson, killing each other here. I don't know if I should be glad or angry, seeing as you are the descendants of our tribe."
The crowd was as silent as cicadas in winter, their lips trembling under his powerful pressure, none daring to raise their heads.
Only Xingtian stared directly at him, suspiciously saying, "If you are truly the reincarnated form of the Mystic Darkness Witch Ancestor, you wouldn't speak such words. Who are you really? Why are you pretending to be the Mystic Darkness using this body?"
