A word "cut," like a thunderclap falling, disperses the night fog.
Beside Qin Ming, the five colored Sword Evil rises, its dazzling presence immeasurable, as if nurturing rivers, wilderness, and seas of fire, carrying a sense of vastness.
Cui Chonghe had already retreated early, constantly changing positions, like a ghost emerging and disappearing in the Mist Sea, appearing abruptly, then vanishing shapelessly.
His whole body shivered, the bone-chilling Sword Qi merging with the night fog, omnipresent, even his eye corners and eyebrows felt the coolness passing by.
His temples, along with his sword-like eyebrows, were slightly damaged, dozens to hundreds of hairs detached, his forehead seemed as if pressed by an Immortal Sword, vaguely aching.
His three Essential Scriptures held lofty intentions, intertwining and resonating in the Third Realm, appearing somewhat forced, now fully erupting, making him feel uncomfortable both mentally and physically.
