The others also did fist-to-palm salutes as they huffed.

“Leaving? I’m afraid you can’t leave once you’re here!”

The old man waved his hand. The black-clothed man from before all raised their fists, radiating dangerously quiet auras.

“You want to fight us when we have so many people on our side? Are you looking for death?”

A bald man craned his neck to look at the old man atop the stage, his expression stony.

“The people here should be pretty good fighters,” the old man said, smiling. “We’ll just kill those who can’t fight properly and take those that aren’t too bad as our puppets so that they can contribute to our society. Hah!”

“Just hand the dragon scale over, you old fart!”

any longer. He shot straight

you can get it

speaking

way, we have no

his foot and speared toward the sky—toward the

you’re that Supreme

the elderly man from before. He

“The Supreme Warrior?”

of breath when they heard that. This man was so young. Was he really the Supreme Warrior—the one person who was far stronger than the Nine Great Gods of

“Hand it over!”

and struck it against the old

been thrown backward by Jack. Blood sprayed from his mouth, and even his mask had fallen

the scars that riddled the old man’s face. It seemed that he

F*ck. This was a trap

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