Yang Yun's body swayed. Just as he was about to fall, Du Ziren rushed over from afar, scooped him into his arms, and shot into the sky toward the next city.
This time, Du Ziren moved extremely fast, even forcing out his own potential.
It was a method that inflicted tremendous harm on the body.
But Du Ziren did not hesitate.
The journey before had been slow, but this time, they moved swiftly. Even Cui Jue failed to catch up immediately.
They landed.
Yang Yun gripped his spear again.
Nine minutes.
Just enough.
Without wasting a single word, Du Ziren immediately summoned the Black House and imprisoned the Buddha in place.
Yang Yun struck again.
But when the spear had pierced more than halfway forward, Yang Yun's aura began to fade frantically.
Filled with unwillingness, Yang Yun let out a furious roar, his eyes bloodshot.
His skin continuously rotted away.
Yet Yang Yun's gaze remained so focused, as though his entire life—from his arduous training as a child, to the passion of standing alongside the Underworld's people after becoming an adult, and then later—
Watching his old brothers-in-arms, whom he had fought beside for years, fall one after another before him in despair.
His life played through his mind like a slideshow.
Until—
A wisp of flame seemed to rise from the spear tip.
That fire was dazzling, brilliant, and radiant.
"Open for me!"
This time, Yang Yun's voice was very soft, like a murmur. He poured all of his remaining mental strength and energy into the spear tip, which finally sank into the Buddha's chest.
"It..."
"It worked."
As if all the air had left him, Yang Yun fell stiffly to the ground. His cloudy eyes stared at the gloomy sky as his pupils gradually dilated.
The Buddha had