“That Western Desert Cultivator was really unlucky. Of all the people to piss off, he pissed off Grandmaster Meng…. You know, over the past couple months, I happened on a few occasions to see a miserable soul embodiment lifted up by Grandmaster Meng….”
Meng Hao cleared his throat as he stood there on the city wall. He ignored the gazes that were all fixed upon him. He had long since become accustomed to the lightning, and by now had reached the point where he could predict it.
After a long moment passed, the fighting on the battlefield resumed. The slaughtering continued, but as it did, the Cultivators would occasionally look up into the sky. The booms were usually the result of magical techniques, but many of the Cultivators would dodge to the side nonetheless, clearly fearful that lighting would fall to exterminate them.