"Dark Race Seven Wolf Kings?"
Ye Qingfeng chuckled softly, slowly turned around, and swept his gaze toward the four elders who had just arrived a thousand feet away.
The four had Western faces. As his indifferent gaze swept over them, he spoke lightly.
"Four Intermediate War Emperors?"
"Do you also want to fight me?"
Hearing Ye Qingfeng's question, the four Russian Guardians all paused in their gaze.
They had lived for nearly two hundred years, and when had they ever been questioned in such a tone by a junior?
But they had to admit, at this moment, a thought simultaneously arose in their hearts: they couldn't afford to antagonize this young man.
The Dark Race Seven Wolf Kings were enough to rival all four of them, but still ended up annihilated by thunder, with not a trace left. They had no enmity with Ye Qingfeng to begin with, so why would they want to provoke such a terrifying figure with such astonishing methods?
