Just a single sword strike.
With one strike, Elder Han changed Master Pang's fate and the entire situation on the field.
Next to the Thunder Pool, the elderly man was short in stature, his hair bun loose and shabby, his facial expression languid.
He simply watched the bronze coffin, a smile on his lips, seemingly unwilling to make another move.
He appeared quite indolent.
But inside that bronze coffin, the elder of the Demon Sect acted as if he'd encountered some indescribable terror, the lid seemed to tighten by another three notches, as if he wished to solder it onto the bronze coffin itself.
That bronze coffin drifted through the air, fleeing as if on wings, cursing the absence of four wheels.
Master Pang was already exhausted, his Dharma Body spent.
Unable to intervene.
He glanced at the elder next to the Thunder Pool.
The elder shot him a look, then turned his gaze to Yan Wushuang in the Thunder Pool, and with a curl of his lip, his face said three words:
