"Nose?"
Huang Zhongxiao instinctively touched his nose, not understanding the meaning. Instead, Chen Nuanyu's cold lips twitched once more.
Although he didn't understand the meaning,
Huang Zhongxiao knew that this young man was mocking him.
His gaze turned cold:
"Arrogant."
The young man retreated seven steps, each step seeming strange, twisting and turning, as if stepping to a rhythm, then clasped his hands in the Meridian Technique gesture.
"I beseech the Venerate, descend divine power, Passing Ghosts and Driving Spirits, urgent as the command!"
A talisman floated from his fingertips, burning to ashes.
The shadows on both sides squirmed,
and then, in Zhang Fusheng's interested gaze, faceless shadow figures stood up one by one.
Eighteen of them.
"Subordinate Soul?" Zhang Fusheng whispered in his heart, once again seeing through this trick, similar to before, all borrowed power from the cultist.
