Outside the Liao River battlefield, amid a verdant mountain to the northwest where the grass and trees had withered yellow and all sounds had fallen silent, Wan Tiancheng leapt and sped like the wind, following the Silk Thread Pull in his hand, which remained entwined and stretched onward like a fine thread.
Suddenly, Wan Tiancheng heard thunder roaring and swords keening behind him. He halted and turned to look back.
The clear blue sky had been dyed into a scene of darkness, blanketed by black clouds. Deep-purple lightning arcs flashed and fell within those clouds high above, as though the Thunder God of the Ninth Heavens had flown into a rage and sought to unleash divine lightning to destroy everything.
Then the phenomenon changed again. A corner of the dark clouds was blasted apart by an incomparably immense force. Above the clouds, stars flickered, and from an immeasurably distant starry sky descended stellar spiritual energy like an inverted Milky Way, forming the shape of the seven stars of the Northern Dipper. Killing intent and deathly aura permeated the air.
Golden light suffused the heavens, and from time to time, the peerlessly majestic figure of a great Buddha, head bracing the sky and feet planted upon the earth, could be glimpsed. That force which dominated all beneath heaven, that fierce and resolute will—even someone like Wan Tiancheng, far removed from the battlefield, could clearly sense it. An indelible shadow fell across his heart.
"Gasp, what terrifying strength. Is this the power of the most supreme masters of the present age? Looking at it now, Xiang Yang and Master's previous battle never used their true abilities at all. Otherwise, Master could never have held out—he would have long since been defeated and killed."
Wan Tiancheng had naturally recognized long ago that these