Above Longqing City, that thread of spiritual energy fluctuation was like a surging tide, churning ever more violently.
It was as though a world-destroying storm was quietly brewing in some hidden place, madly gathering strength.
The heavy clouds seemed to be wantonly stirred by an invisible giant hand from the primordial wilds, rolling layer upon layer without end like boiling molten lead, filling the air with a suffocating, fearsome pressure.
Chen Ze concealed himself behind the clouds like a falcon in the night, his gaze cold and sharp as he looked down upon the brutal battle below.
Outside Yasong Tower, Dagan spies lay strewn all over the ground. More than half were dead or wounded, their blood winding like streams and staining the surrounding ground red. The pungent stench of blood filled the air, making one retch.
The few remaining spies saw that the tide had turned against them, their faces filled with despair, yet they still tried to put up a final stubborn resistance.
The Magic Artifacts in their hands flashed with a cold, ghostly light as they swung them with roaring force.
Yet this was merely the frenzied struggle before death, like trapped beasts still fighting, adding only a few more strokes of sorrow.
Chen Ze's Doppelgangers tightened their encirclement, closing in step by step, following like shadows and giving them no chance to catch their breath, like hunters driving their prey.
At last, as the final muffled groan abruptly ceased, every spy around Yasong Tower was wiped out.
The Doppelgangers efficiently cleared the battlefield, swiftly disposing of the corpses and bloodstains until nothing remained.
Then they concealed themselves once more, blending into the surrounding darkness as if they had never existed in this world at all.
As the sounds of fighting outside gradually faded away, Lin Xiaoqing