His trump card, which he relied upon, now seemed ineffective, unable to change anything.
"Is it truly the case that I can only transform my Golden Core into a Demon Pill?"
Thinking about this possibility caused intense pain in his heart.
Once he completes the transformation, there is no way back.
His Confucian foundation, his Golden Core essence, his last sanctuary—all would be devoured completely by the Ten Thousand Methods of Falling Demon Technique.
He would become a genuine Demon Cultivator.
A traitor fallen into the Demon Path.
A sinner forever scorned by the Confucian Sect.
"No, I'm not willing."
His eyes bulged, glaring at those frenzied struggling Demon Cultivators, glaring at those relentless guards, glaring at that Cloud Prison that could never be destroyed.
His heart was filled with a sense of hatred.
This was hatred against fate.
He was angry, hating fate for forcing him down a path he absolutely didn't want to take!
