With a great BOOM, dust billowed into the air.
As the churning dust was blown away by a subterranean wind, Wu Tian was revealed standing there, completely unscathed. His handsome face was serene, as if nothing had happened—a perfect calm amidst the storm.
A glance at the Silver Immortal Seekers revealed a grim sight. Of the one hundred, over seventy had been shattered to pieces by the spiritual power in Wu Tian's fist, leaving behind nothing but pools of fresh blood. The remaining thirty were also covered in their own gore, collapsed on the ground. The violent spiritual power from his punch had completely destroyed their skin, rendering them unrecognizable. They were not dead, but they were barely hanging on by a single thread of life—a thread that would not last long.
Wu Tian looked down upon them, like the Heavenly Emperor gazing upon ants.
