Face, neck, chest, crotch—in his explosion of sanguine rage, Xinzi left no part of Xia Hu unmolested. His fists crashed without mercy, brutalizing the swordmaster with the weight of 1,000 sledgehammers. Xia Hu's consciousness faded; his brain stopped registering the pain—a vain attempt to protect itself, perhaps. But Xue Yuanshao, who from the comfort of Xia Hu's soul witnessed this beatdown with front-row seats, raged to no end.
'Damn, I underestimated him. Although I could see that this clerical son of a bitch showed little to no scruple with heretical methods, I still didn't expect that he'd go as far as to cultivate Evil Qi and pervert his soul.'
In Xue Yuanshao's eyes, the Evil Qi Xinzi cultivated for and through the Reincarnation of Mahasura had reached a staggering quantity—single-handedly pushing the monk's battle-prowess to the absurd levels that enabled him to pummel a generational swordsman such as Xia Hu like an impotent wretch.
