Moluo couldn't help but be stunned.
The black-robed masked figure at the tower's peak hadn't moved an inch from beginning to end.
Yet all the attacks falling upon his black robe sank like stones in the sea, unable to stir the slightest ripple, and the robe remained quietly swaying in the wind.
And the two undead knights charging towards this mysterious figure were frozen as if time had stopped—one raising his longsword, the other casting a spell—but all their actions were stiffened and ceased.
Moluo couldn't comprehend how this mysterious person accomplished it; there wasn't the slightest fluctuation of Spiritual Pressure nor spiritual power. Could it be a Concept Skill?
Or perhaps a Spiritual Artifact that doesn't consume energy... or even an Authority?!
Moluo's originally sharp gaze gradually turned cautious and careful.
