There was a boom as Meng Hao used a magical item to defend himself. Coughing up blood, he laughed. The blood on his teeth made his smile even more ferocious.
“This is your so-called ‘being reasonable?’” he said. His eyes shone with killing intent, and he didn’t say anything more. Swallowing a Demonic Core, he pushed the treasured fan forward even faster.
Several hours passed. Afternoon came, then evening. Meng Hao was exhausted, but he could see that this pursuit might go on for days. He could see from the cold eyes of the person chasing him that he was ruthlessly toying with him.
He was prey, not to be killed forthrightly, but to be toyed with. Then, even as he began to go crazy from it all, he would be felled in a single blow.
The land of the State of Zhao whizzed beneath Meng Hao and Ding Xin. Time passed. Meng Hao’s Cultivation base of the eighth level of Qi Condensation was at the point that it seemed about to wither up. He continually consumed Demonic Cores, but that in itself was harming his body. Even his blood seemed to reek with a Demonic air.
To a Cultivator, this was essentially intentionally harming one’s own Cultivation base. Meng Hao had never heard of this before, but based on what he was seeing, he now had a clue. And yet, he had no choice.
As for Ding Xin, he had noticed what was happening, so had intentionally slowed his pursuit. An inquisitive look had appeared in his eyes, as if he had caught sight of some interesting toy.
“I really want to see what happens when you consume so many Demonic Cores that your entire aura becomes Demonic? When I kill you, will I find an eighth-level Demonic Core inside?” Ding Xin laughed.
Meng Hao heard his words, and more veins of blood appeared in his eyes. His face grew somber