Zhan Ting fiercely smashed down with a punch.
The trajectory of the fist was simple and direct. There was no embellishment or excess; it displayed the purest combination of strength, vitality, and intent.
"Good technique!"
The specter let out a hoarse cry, as if sound was emanating from it.
Its pallid eye sockets stared at the divine fist akin to a heavenly punishment without a trace of fear.
"Annoying dog, sniffing around," the specter thought irritably, "if I kill this person and attract more hounds, the task assigned by a hundred ghosts cannot be completed."
"I'll let you be impudent for a while."
A black hole-like dim color appeared in the specter.
Bang!
Once more, a ball of black flame was divided, colliding with the long knife behind.
In the next moment, a screech sounded.
"Walking Corpse Soul Split!"
