His words made those of the Golden Crow tribe beneath the mountain gnash their teeth and stare in anger.
Han Chaohu roared, his boxing gradually losing its form.
Han Muye shook his head.
The Golden Crow tribe in the Han Mountain was not a direct line within the Golden Crow tribe, and its heritage was extremely thin.
Whether in terms of bloodline or various cultivation techniques, they had no advantage.
If Han Chaohu awakened the Golden Crow bloodline, he wouldn't need boxing; a single punch could directly kill the opponent.
"Our Han Mountain's medicinal field will not yield a single bit!"
Han Chaohu threw a punch, shouting loudly.
Behind him, the green Golden Crow phantom merged with the fist shadow, stirring the surrounding 30 feet of heaven and earth's power.
This punch, if in another world, could shatter mountains and rivers for thousands of miles, but in the Great Desolate, it could only mobilize the power within 30 feet.