Just like that, while Wang Chen continued sneaking and hunting across the desolate plains, a year slipped by in the blink of an eye.
In this land where time had long since lost its meaning, a lone figure darted lightly across the cracked terrain—his movements smooth, precise, and silent. The faint gleam of determination lit his eyes. In his hand, he held a sharp, curved bone—the remains of some ancient creature long since forgotten by history. Yet in Wang Chen's grip, it radiated faint sword qi, a dim golden aura that shimmered with a gentle warmth utterly alien to this cold and lifeless world.
A few meters away, a resentful ghost shrieked in agony as his blade sliced through its spectral body. The faint light of sword qi tore through the miasma like sunlight through storm clouds, dispersing the ghost's gray form into wisps of smoke. The lingering wails faded into silence, swallowed by the endless winds that swept across the barren plain.
