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They were all before Song Qingshu's move, and even only vaguely perceiving the ups and downs of the void behind Song Qingshu.

They have to respond in advance.

Or raise an iron fist, like Xiahouli is fierce and unprovoked.

Or raise the iron bow, like a gray-clothed old man's shot.

Only a stronger shot than the Hell Terrace can beat the Hell Terrace.

Only in this way can we battle the absolute power represented by the prison platform.

Song Qingshu was faintly excited, because he believed that even if Mo Xiejia was strong, he couldn't just stand still and let himself hit a hell platform.

He either fights or moves ahead.

Standing in place, you can only die!

After all, no matter how strong Mo Xie Jia is now, he is just a strong Nascent Soul.

As long as the realm has not broken through to the god of transformation realm.

Then he must meet the pure physical shock, unless he wants to die.

Chapter 398

Under the hell stage, everyone is equal.

It doesn't matter if you are a noble head.

Or the extremely lowly poor casual repair.

As long as you stand under the platform of hell, all you can see is the same scenery.

The same dark and heavy to the heartstrings, appalling black.

That is a manifestation of pure power.

It was a heavy color that made countless ascetics struggle desperately before they died.

However, Mo Xiejia never despaired, stood still, and never made any moves.

Facing such a Mo Yejia.

Song Qingshu is always worried.

He can't help but be vigilant while worrying.

Because Song Qingshu believed that this scholar who looked like a gentle scum was definitely the strongest enemy he had ever encountered.

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

How could it be really as calm and calm as he appeared?

Could it be that he would really stand still there.

Then let yourself be smashed to death?

Could it be that this world is invincible Mo Yejia.

Will you really die in an emotion called contempt?

Song Qingshu was a little puzzled, and inevitably a little excited when he was puzzled.

Excited and vigilant emotionally make upset.

In the end, this uneasy mood turned into panic again.

No matter what kind of emotion it is, it is actually just what Song Qingshu felt in an instant.

It is countless times shorter than the lightning and flint of the world.

What happened after that very short moment.

Only one emotion remained in Song Qingshu's mind.

That is shock.

Extremely shocked.

The thunderbolt blew up a shock on the ground.

Apart from the shock, Song Qingshu had no other thoughts in his heart.

Excitement and vigilance were frozen and withered.

The restlessness and confusion were concealed by moonlight.

boom!

The Hell Terrace slammed into the space in front of Mo Yejia with a fierce impact.

So the scroll in Mo Yejia's hand withered a few pages.

Mo Yejia's face was pale.

Then the Hell Platform bullet flew far away, and a huge horn was recessed on the Hell Platform.

Song Qingshu looked at the withered pages of Mo Xiejia, with a pale face, and muttered in confusion, "This shouldn't be right."

The book was withered and his face paled.

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

It should be noted that today's Hell Terrace is already extremely powerful.

The weight of level fifteen, let alone invincible in the world, at least for the strong Yuan Ying.

It should be a nightmare for them.

Today's Hell Terrace, even if it hits a hill-sized meteorite, it can easily be smashed into a pool of rock dust.

But now.

Such a terrifying Hell Terrace could not bring any threat to Mo Xie Jia at this time, even if it was a point close to his body, he could not do it.

Seeing this incredible scene, Song Qingshu tightly grasped the purple blood soft sword's right hand trembling slightly.

The more Song Qingshu thought about it, the more he felt unreasonable, so his lips squirmed slightly, intending to say something.

Without waiting for Song Qingshu to speak, Mo Xiejia's admirable and meaningful words rang in Song Qingshu's ears: "Is that thing called a hell platform?"

"Very good artifact."

"If it hadn't been for the broken book in my hand, I think I would really envy you."

Song Qingshu asked with lips:

"You haven't even smashed the corner of your clothes. What kind of power is it?"

Mo Xiejia shook his head slightly, tore off the already yellow pages of the scroll in his hand, and said distressedly: "You can't say that."

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

Song Qingshu raised his foot and continued walking forward, breaking the wall while opening his lips and said, "I don't know."

"Isn't it interrupted by me halfway?"

Mo Xiejia smiled indifferently:

"Although your Hell Terrace is fast, you can speak faster."

"When I uttered the last word, I had already prepared ten thousand monks for you."

"Those more than 10,000 cultivators, without exception, are Yuan Ying strong men."

"The weakest is Yuanying First, and the strongest is Yuanying Triple. Is the lineup still strong?"

Song Qingshu still strode forward, looking up puzzledly and asking:

"Such a lineup, the end is very strong."

"With such a lineup, I don't want to dominate this small world. Even with this as a starting point, crusade against other worlds is nothing."

"So, why are you still willing to stay here, in this world where heaven is lacking?"

Mo Xiejia shrugged helplessly, raised the scroll in his hand, and said with a smile: "This Xiongcheng is a bit small."

"For many years, only you were 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 ten thousand elite soldiers for me."

"So why haven't I seen someone in the city?"

Mo Xiejia smiled helplessly, and pointed to the pieces of dry paper that he had torn off:

"I just let them use life as a shield."

"The realm is the city, and the flesh and blood are the line to guard me."

"One word, one person."

"One thousand words per page."

"No matter how powerful the Hell Terrace thought about you, it would probably end up with a page of paper."

"Who knows that you withered nine pages in one go."

"Song Qingshu, you really have the means."

Song Qingshu once again shook the purple blood soft sword, his face was as cold as snow:

"So, there are still a thousand people?"

The bitter smile at the corner of Mo Yejia's mouth thawed away, turning into an intriguing smile: "Are you ready?"

Mo Xiejia said this.

The vitality of the world suddenly became disturbed.

One of the pages of the book in his hand that was old enough to be folded corners began to leak ink.

The breeze under the moon gently blew the ink that exuded the fragrance of ink to all parts of Xiongcheng.

Then there were a thousand soldiers standing under the moon.

On the eaves.

Lake water.

By the lake.

Under the broken wall.

Around the pile of rocks.

Thousands of burly male soldiers appeared in any corner of the city.

The various weapons in their hands exuded a powerful, cold light under the moon.

The iron sword is embellished with sharpness.

The iron gun outlines a simple straight line.

The iron bow interprets the dark horror.

Song Qingshu looked around, then raised his head seriously and looked at Mo Xiejia: "Is this interesting?"

Mo Xie Jia haha ​​smiled:

"Why do you say that?"

Song Qingshu pointed to the male soldier under the moon, and pierced a cold light between his fingers.

puff!

There was a violent cry.

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