The Withered Wood Dragon was heartbroken beyond measure.
A fight was a fight—why were they targeting the Martial Tool?
Did they really think it was easy for a high-level being to find a suitable Martial Tool?!
Saint Spirit grade equipment on the market could be bought for a few hundred Primal Crystals, but it was hard to find anything suitable.
If that did not work, it could spend more money and have a Blacksmith Grandmaster forge one.
Mythical Level equipment was different.
Leaving aside the fact that each piece cost tens of thousands of Primal Crystals on the market.
After enduring countless years to save enough money, one would discover that there was simply none to buy.
Such things only circulated in small amounts within factions. The outside world did not sell them at all.
It had spent hundreds of thousands of years planning for this Martial Tool.
Painting Yi, who had been watching for entertainment nearby, stopped whistling when he saw this. If he still dared to gloat at a time like this, he would probably lose a layer of skin afterward—in the literal sense.
A gust of wind swept by, and the battlefield that had been so intense moments ago suddenly fell silent.
And it grew quieter and quieter.
The wind stopped.
The clouds scattered.
Painting Yi and the Fire Dragon were clearly still fighting nonstop nearby, but every collision and shockwave vanished without a trace upon reaching this side.
Suddenly, a crisp sword cry rang out, followed by an endless chorus of sword cries.
In an instant, this place became a galaxy of Sword Qi.
Yet the sharpest sword was the Withered Wood Dragon, which had not moved at all.
The Withered Vine Sword, more than half broken, had been replaced by the Withered Wood Dragon's will.