The Laser Tanks kept firing death rays, and the World Boss kept staggering. Parts of its body melted and fell away, making it seem as though its days were numbered.
The surrounding high-level players watched this scene, watched the Sword Saint who had just been invincible in the world become unable to withstand the lasers, yet felt no joy at the death of a formidable enemy.
There was only sorrow, only desolation.
Was this the tide of the times?
Was this the crushing might of technology?
Even the Sword Saint, invincible beneath heaven, was about to be besieged to death by Laser Tanks.
Was this the absurdity of martial artists?
Was this the curtain call of the peak?
Before their eyes was the final echo of classical arts of power, the day when the romantic dream of combat techniques shattered.
The World Boss was about to melt. No matter how he darted and shifted, he could not evade the lasers. Under the Information Ocean's coordination, those Laser Tanks had completely calculated his movement patterns.
Many high-level players sighed, not knowing what to say. Some even hoped the boss could escape.
It was respect and empathy for one of their own who possessed even greater skill.
Before everyone's eyes, the World Boss suddenly rose into the air and flew toward the sky.
"Don't!" a player could not help shouting. "You have to dodge laser weapons! The higher you fly, the more concentrated the fire becomes!"
Yet that boss was like an ancient man who had crossed through time, completely unable to understand how beam weapons struck. Or perhaps it was not that he did not understand, but the final stubbornness of something sacred that refused to die in the dust.
Half the Boss's body had already melted, and the laser weapons