After killing the monk with such overwhelming finality, Vogue slowly turned around to face Boss Osborn, who remained frozen on his golden throne. A pleasant smile spread across Vogue's blood-spattered face—the kind of smile that made the expression somehow more terrifying than any snarl could have been.
The massive gang leader was absolutely terrified, his three-meter frame trembling despite his size. Sweat poured down his face in rivers. His hands gripped the armrests of his throne so tightly that the metal began to bend and creak under the pressure.
Monk Lin had been an incredibly powerful individual, a Half-Step Luminous Realm expert who had massacred entire groups of cultivators single-handedly in the past. Yet this young man had killed him almost casually, as though swatting an annoying insect. The ease with which Vogue had dismantled such overwhelming power made it abundantly clear that Boss Osborn himself stood absolutely no chance whatsoever.
