Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
When Xiao Yi's voice echoed in the skies above Shaolin Temple, the four ancestors of the temple, who had been ready to act, immediately led a group of Shaolin powerhouses to soar into the sky.
Each figure was suspended above the heavens.
A dark mass.
Like clouds covering the sky.
Across the lands of the Western Province, countless powerhouses were alerted.
Inside the Hanging Temple.
The Hanging Sky Supreme, having already returned from Spirit Mountain, opened his eyes. His sharp gaze seemingly pierced through miles to witness that astonishing sword light at Shaolin Temple, his expression slightly shifting, "Shaolin Buddha King Xiao Yi... dares to draw his sword against Spirit Mountain?"
Xuan Cang clasped his hands together, chanting Amitabha Buddha, "Supreme, what are the odds of Shaolin's victory?"
"Odds of victory?"
Hanging Sky Supreme was stunned for a moment, then bitterly smiled, "Like dust!"
Dust?
Wasn't that extremely slim?
