Venthros tilted his head, and a corrupted smile twisted across his face.
"Adorable. These desperate mortals truly believe that just because of a newly ascended cultivator, the game has suddenly changed. That he will make the difference. That the outcome hasn't already been decided."
His laughter echoed through the battlefield not only in volume but also in resonance. Like a cracked bell ringing through the soul, shaking the foundation of confidence in all who heard it.
But Quinlan didn't waver.
Rongtai stepped up beside him. Blood oozed slowly from a long gash in his arm, where wind had torn through his flesh. Bruises decorated his chest, and even his steady breath had begun to labor. The unshakable monk-like figure now bore the marks of fatigue, but his eyes, as always, remained steady like ancient stone.
"Our attacks aren't enough," he said bluntly, without any form of embellishment. "This monster... doesn't bleed like he should."
