"The thing on you, it should be a creation passed down from the Ancient Wizard Civilization, right?"
"Did you get it from the ruins?" The Gray Mist squinted at Richard, "I guessed right, the function of this thing should be to provide you with a large amount of energy, enhance your own power, which is indeed impressive—it's a rare find for an ordinary person to get one, and you actually have four! It seems you are really lucky."
"Perhaps, it's not just luck," Richard replied.
"Whatever you say." The Gray Mist's eyes turned sharp, "Whether you're lucky or not, in my view, it's just a small trouble. I refuse to believe your defense is unbreakable, and I refuse to believe you can kill me again."
"Swoosh!"
The Gray Mist raised the Death God Scythe and slashed down again, striking horizontally at the Air Wall in front of Richard.
An even more powerful force burst forth, pushing Richard back, retreating four or five meters before stopping.
