Li Qi was thirty years old. He had now broken through to the eighth rank.
The world around him had become even more absurd.
This world had completely turned into a "battle" genre. It was as if all productive activity had ceased, with all art and everyday life vanishing.
It was as though everyone had been born solely for combat power.
The world's spiritual energy had revived, and everyone had begun fighting. Politics, philosophy—everything had been simplified into comparisons of combat power. All things were expressed through the simplest violence.
The very concept of nations had utterly collapsed. It looked like an apocalypse where only fists spoke. Everyone possessed the physical abilities of former Olympic champions, while the strong were superhuman on average.
Even art could be wholly transformed into combat power. Singing, painting, calligraphy—they were all parts of "moves."
Dong Yao was still alive, but she had changed from the beautiful-girl character in a youthful romantic light comedy into a fairy maiden of extraordinary talent. Yet the one thing that had not changed was that she still chased Li Qi everywhere.
World war swept across every corner.
All kinds of "foreshadowing" erupted here.
How should he put it? Li Qi had not even known this world contained so many contradictions.
It was practically like Ferdinand being shot dead.
Was Ferdinand's life important? Not really.
Throughout the history of the great powers, the big shots assassinated or beheaded by opposition factions could fill an entire square, yet only Ferdinand had triggered a world war.
Because what mattered was not Ferdinand himself, but that the great powers at the time had long since become unable to tolerate one another.
The same was true now.
However, the world war quickly spun out of control, and this world raced toward a future where