Rumble.
Startling lightning turned day bright.
The world blazed white.
The cultivator within the cave abode slowly opened his eyes.
His dark-gold amber eyes resembled exquisite cat's-eye gemstones.
Set off by that dark-gold hair, they were dazzling beyond measure.
If Meng Zhi had once looked merely delicate and handsome, his features had now gradually changed, becoming resolute and strikingly handsome.
He bore the breadth of a high cultivator looking down upon the world, as well as the divinity belonging solely to a great cultivator.
That ethereal yet indescribably weighty sharpness—if ordinary mortals saw it, they would likely prostrate themselves in worship and take him for an exiled immortal descended from heaven.
Meng Zhi removed the blue-black cloak from his body and tightened the Dharma robe he wore.
The robe was woven with imperial-blood gold thread, lined and edged with obsidian leather, and adorned with golden patterns—noble and luxurious.
Most importantly, the formation talismans inscribed upon the robe linked together like stars tracing their courses, forming a complete cycle.
Such a Dharma robe could protect him from two or three bolts of a Spirit Transformation tribulation. It had been custom-tailored for him by specialists from the Ancient Immortal Tower.
Thirty years ago, he would never have dared imagine that one day he would wear such a Dharma robe, with a jade pendant spirit treasure hanging at his waist.
Nor that he would wield a top-grade Dao weapon.
Meng Zhi spread his palm, and a three-foot banner appeared in his hand.
The moment he gripped the soul banner, its black-gold main shaft transformed into a saber hilt.
As he clenched the hilt in midair, the black-gold Soul Banner slowly condensed into a blade. The skull evil ghost at its tip roared as it became the foremost point of the saber, while the