After the door was destroyed, two people charged into the room, accompanied by a cold, glittering light. As they descended upon him, Meng Hao let out a cold snort. It didn’t matter that he was actually in the wrong. He sat there cross-legged, his killing intent flashing. His lifted his right hand up as fast as lightning, and a single finger attack shot out.
A miserable scream immediately filled the air, and a corpse toppled backward out the door. At the same time, his four remaining fingers curled into a claw which latched onto the neck of a black-robed Cultivator.
No matter how he struggled, the man couldn’t move an inch. Meng Hao immediately sent spiritual power into the man’s Cultivation base, sealing it down tightly.
When attacking, one cannot hesitate, nor show weakness. That is a fundamental rule in the Black Lands.
Meng Hao’s expression was calm as he looked over at the door. Standing outside were eight Cultivators wearing black robes. Their expressions were serious, but they didn’t dare to enter the room. Instead, they stood there looking vigilantly at Meng Hao.
“Dongluo Ling,” said Meng Hao coolly, “is this the way the Dongluo Clan receives its guests? You’d better provide an explanation, or I’ll turn your skull into a cooking pot.”