Cold. An endless cold!
It was a bone-chilling cold, like the very aura of death drifting up from the Nine Netherworld Hell.
The crowd had never imagined that a Sky-Controlling Martial Artist could possess such a terrifyingly immense killing intent—one that plunged the surrounding space into what felt like the depths of winter.
"What is your name."
Qin Ya spoke with indifference, his eyes devoid of sorrow or joy, like two pieces of ice that had never thawed, radiating an ultimate chill.
Stared at by those eyes, the Blood-Robed Youth felt a chill run through him. He too was a man long accustomed to slaughter, with a mental fortitude far exceeding others in his realm, yet at this moment, he still felt a sliver of terror!
Seeing this, the pupils of the old man behind the youth contracted. With a flicker of movement, he instantly shielded the youth, his expression wary as he stared intently at Qin Ya.
