"Damn!" Leng Mang clenched his teeth, his forehead covered in cold sweat.
He gripped the triangular dagger in his hand tightly, feeling enveloped by danger.
He had already been extremely cautious, elevating his state to two hundred percent, but it was still futile; Little Dao seemed unbeatable.
If Leng Mang felt this way, one could only imagine how Wan Jun, Shou Hou, and Zheng Bu felt.
That they could still stand there without stepping back was unbelievable, but that was all they were doing—just standing there.
The three were oppressed by Little Dao's aura, like three children targeted by a ferocious tiger, completely unable to move or dare to move, with only their sweat rapidly falling.
In an instant.
Little Dao had already reached in front of Leng Mang and the others.
The atmosphere solidified.
Little Dao was about to make a move.