In the far western lands, the white-clad figure walks on air, everything below him in this world passing beneath his feet like fleeting clouds.
Unable to make him pause for even a moment, his face consistently bears a faintly cold expression.
This color is both plain and extraordinary.
His eyes, as calm as an ancient well, sweep across the space before him, and as he proceeds, he transforms into powerful strikes, relentless in crushing any obstacle in his way.
Under such crushing power.
Regardless of whether it is a whirlwind or a tattered cloud up ahead, everything turns into smoke and vanishes into the air without a trace.
"It's said that in the far western lands, traces of the Buddha can be found, yet I have arrived here with nothing gained. Could it be that this legend is false?"
"If that's the case, this journey is meaningless. It would be better to stay by the Prince's side and guard him well."
