Lord Of Martial Arts

The old man said definitively that no one would be able to leave unless their ancestor resurrected and opened the door to this place in person. Then he hesitated and added that another way would be for Darren to cultivate his skills and become a god of the Immortal World. With that level of energy, he could break the space barrier and get out.

Of course, that was easier said than done. It was extremely difficult to become a god of the Immortal World.

To become a god of the Immortal World, one would have to condense and refine one hundred and eight metal meridians. And that was just the first step.

Darren felt a wave of frustration wash over him. The task of becoming a god of this world was so difficult; it was the same as asking a normal mortal to climb a mountain hundreds of millions of feet in height.

"Young man, that's why I said you have bad luck," sighed the old man. "I'm sorry to

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te sticks and knives. The weapons were made of bone.

The descendants whooped and laughed as they came closer. "Delicious meat!" shouted the leader.

He opened his scarlet red mouth and licked his lips with his long tongue. A stream of thick, stinking liquid dripped out of his mouth. He was literally drooling at the sight of Darren, whom he viewed as nothing more than a slab of tasty food.

The energy in the old man's eyes dimmed when he saw that Darren had no intention of taking the iron chain. He bowed his head and returned to his place beside the giant corpse. He sat down cross-legged, closing his eyes, and didn't say another word.

It was clear that he had washed his hands of Darren. He would give no more counsel to this haughty outsider.

Still, the old man couldn't help feeling bad for Darren, knowing he was certain to experience a miserable death at the hands of the descendants.