Fang Hao moved.
It wasn't a probe, it wasn't a skirmish; it was a true thunderous strike.
"Noisy."
He only uttered two words, and his figure had already vanished from where he stood. It wasn't the kind of extreme speed that left afterimages, but something even more terrifying—as if he had always been meant to be in that position, with space shortening the distance beneath his feet.
Daoist Chong's pupils shrank, and the insect banner in his hand instinctively swung forward. Black Qi surged, and countless poisonous insects pounced out like a dark cloud pressing down. This was his trump card, the "Ten Thousand Poison Insect Tide." Every poisonous insect had been fed with Yin Qi for decades, specifically designed to break through a Cultivator's protective spiritual power. A Golden Core Cultivator would suffer rotting flesh and eroding bones if they touched even one.
But Fang Hao didn't even look at that cloud of insects.
