Qin Chuan watched the figure on the screen, battered beyond recognition.
Dragon Soaring World moved more and more slowly. Every punch seemed to drain the last of his strength.
And every backlash sent more black blood streaming from his body.
His consciousness blurred. In his vision, the bookshelves and contracts became twisting, spinning patches of color.
The hundred and thirty-seventh time.
When his fist struck a contract made of bone, an icy Death Aura surged into him, as though it would freeze his soul solid.
He fell to his knees. His body could no longer hold him up.
"Is it over?" The light of Dies Martin's avatar rippled, as if he had hoped for more.
Inside the prison, Dragon Soaring World lay facedown on the floor, without the strength to lift a finger.
Cracks ran through his soul. It seemed ready to shatter at any moment.
Just as his consciousness was about to sink into eternal darkness, the War Ladder that had existed only in his imagination appeared again.
But this time, it was no hazy illusion.
He seemed to hear horns, war drums, and the footsteps of countless warriors trampling mountains and rivers beneath them.
It was no one person's voice, but the pure rhythm of war.
Forward! Forward!
No thought for the road ahead, no heed for life or death!
That torrent of resolve washed over Dragon Soaring World's near-shattered Divine Soul, forcibly welding his scattering will back together.
Dragon Soaring World jerked his head up. His eyes blazed red.
"Aah!"
With his last reserves of strength, he roared like a wounded beast and charged at the nearest bookshelf.
He could not even see what he was attacking. Guided by instinct alone, he poured his full weight and the warrior's will hammered by more than a hundred blows