Chapter 398

Under the stage of hell, everyone is equal.

Whether you are the leader of a noble sect.

Or the poor scattered practice that is extremely low.

As long as you stand under the hell stage, you can see the same scenery.

As dark, heavy to the heart stirring, frightening black.

That is the embodiment of pure power.

It was a heavy color that made countless monks desperate before they died.

However, moxie Jia did not despair, stayed where he was, and did not make even a little movement.

In the face of such evil Mo Jia.

Song Qingshu is always worried.

While worried, he couldn't help being vigilant.

Because song Qingshu believes that this scholar who looks like a gentle scum is definitely the strongest enemy he has ever met.

How can such a person do nothing in the face of death.

How could it really be as calm and quiet as he showed?

Would he really stay where he is.

And then let yourself die alive?

Is there no invincible moyejia in this world.

Will you really die in an emotion called contempt?

Song Qingshu was a little puzzled, but he was inevitably excited.

The emotion of excitement and vigilance is uneasy.

Finally, this uneasy mood turned into confusion.

No matter what kind of emotion, in fact, it is only what song Qingshu realized in an instant.

It is countless times shorter than the lightning and flint that the world talks about.

What happened after that very short moment.

Song Qingshu left only one emotion in his mind.

That's shock.

Extreme shock.

It was a shock caused by the thunderous explosion on the ground.

In addition to the shock, song Qingshu had no other thoughts in his heart.

Excitement and vigilance are frozen and withered.

Uneasiness and confusion are hidden by the moonlight.

Boom!

Hell platform slammed into the space in front of Mo Xie Jia with ferocious and incomparable impact.

So the scroll in the hands of mexie Jia withered a few pages.

Mo Xie Jia's face turned pale.

Then the hell platform bomb flew far away, and a huge angle was concave on the hell platform.

Song Qingshu looked at the withered pages of moxie Jia, and his face turned white. He was puzzled and whispered:

"That shouldn't be right."

The book withered and his face turned white.

All this is all the damage that the dark and heavy hell platform can cause.

It should be noted that today's hell platform is already very powerful.

The weight of level 15, let alone invincible in the world, is at least for Yuanying's strong.

It should be their nightmare.

Today's hell platform can easily smash a meteorite the size of a hill into a pool of stone powder.

But now.

Such a terrible hell platform could not bring a threat to moxie Jia at this time, even if it was close to his body.

Looking at this incredible picture, song Qingshu held the purple blood soft sword tightly and trembled gently.

The more song Qingshu thought about it, the more he felt unreasonable, so his lips moved gently and planned to say something.

Without waiting for song Qingshu to say something, moxie Jia's words of admiration rang in Song Qingshu's ears:

"Is that thing called hell platform?"

"Very good artifact."

"If I didn't have this broken book in my hand, I think I would really envy you."

Song Qingshu asked:

"What kind of power is it that you haven't even hit a point in your clothes?"

Moxie Jia shook his head slightly, tore off the withered and yellow pages of the scroll in his hand, and said with some pain:

"You can't say that."

"I used to call soldiers with the power of words, grammar and reading, but no soldier appeared beside me. Do you know why?"

Song Qingshu raised his feet and continued to walk forward. While breaking a wall, he opened his lips and said:

"I don't know."

"Wasn't it interrupted by me?"

Mo Xie Jia smiled indifferently:

"Although your hell platform is fast, you can speak faster."

"When I spit out the last word, I have prepared 10000 monks for you."

"The more than 10000 monks are all strong Yuan Ying without exception."

"The weakest is Yuanying Yizhong, and the strongest is Yuanying triple. Can the lineup be strong?"

Song Qingshu still strode forward, looked up in confusion and asked:

"Such a lineup can be called strong."

"With such a lineup, don't say you want to dominate this small world. Even based on this, it's nothing to crusade against other worlds."

"So, why are you still willing to shrink here and shrink in this world where there is a lack of heaven?"

Mo Xie Jia shrugged his shoulders, raised the scroll in his hand, smiled and said:

"This male city is a little small."

"Over the years, only you are stupid enough to come in."

"So I've always been here."

Song Qingshu agreed and nodded.

Then song Qingshu frowned slightly and asked again:

"Since you have prepared 10000 elite soldiers for me."

"Then why haven't I seen this man in the city?"

Mo Xie Jia smiled helplessly and pointed to several pieces of dry paper torn by him:

"I just gave them life as a shield."

"Take the realm as the city and the flesh and blood as the line to guard by my side."

"One word, one person."

"One thousand words per page."

"Even if the hell platform that originally thought of you is more powerful, I will probably end up with a page of dry paper."

"Who knows you will wither my nine pages in one breath."

"Song Qingshu, you really have a means."

Song Qingshu once again grasped the purple blood soft sword in his hand, and his face was as cold as snow:

"So there are still a thousand?"

The bitter smile at the corners of moyejia's mouth thawed away and turned into a thought-provoking smile:

"Are you ready?"

Mo Xie Jia said so.

The vitality of heaven and earth suddenly became agitated.

One of the pages in his hand was so old that ink began to flow out of it.

Under the moon, the breeze gently blew and sprinkled the ink with ink fragrance all over xiongcheng.

Then a thousand soldiers stood under the moon.

On the eaves.

In the lake.

By the lake.

Under the broken wall.

Around the pile.

Thousands of burly soldiers appeared in any corner of xiongcheng.

All kinds of weapons in their hands radiate a powerful cold light under the moon.

The iron sword is dotted with sharp edges.

The iron gun outlines a simple straight line.

The iron bow deduces the dark horror.

Song Qingshu looked around, then looked up carefully and looked at Mo Xie Jia:

"Is that interesting?"

Mo Xie Jia laughed:

"Why do you say that?"

Song Qingshu pointed to the soldier under the moon and pricked a cold awn between his fingers.

Poof!

A whine.

The burly soldier suddenly turned into a burst of smoke and dispersed.

Song Qingshu sneered:

"Such a powerful soldier, with an empty realm but no soul, can only be regarded as a puppet."

"Such a strong Yuanying is not even an ordinary golden pill friar. So he wants to kill me?"

Mo Xie Jia smiled:

"I don't need to kill you, as long as I can keep you."